


Spirit of a Boy, Wisdom of a Man

by BreTheWriter



Series: Hold Me Like You'll Never Let Me Go [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreTheWriter/pseuds/BreTheWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor never intended to take Stark up on his offer to stay in Avengers Tower. But when Jane learns something that changes everything, he decides to avail himself of the protection afforded by the Man of Iron...and discovers a family to rival the one he left on Asgard, maybe even a better one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spirit of a Boy, Wisdom of a Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverTempest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverTempest/gifts), [purpleyedemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleyedemon/gifts).



            Thor, Son of Odin, former Crown Prince of Asgard, Wielder of the Hammer Mjølnir, Avenger of Earth and Guardian of Midgard, stubbornly refused to be defeated by the piece of ancient technology before him.

            “A keyboard,” he muttered to himself. “How quaint.”

            He had been on Midgard— _Earth,_ he reminded himself, the people of this land called it _Earth_ —for some months now, but it was only now that he was getting around to learning this particular piece of equipment. Jane had been very kind about allowing him to assist with her work, although he knew that she did not need another unpaid intern. But he felt that it was time he found employment of his own, and that, as Eric had kindly explained to him, meant creating something called a _résumé._ Which, in turn, meant mastering the computer.

            Currently, this was not going well.

            The problem, Thor thought, was that technology on Asgard had progressed well beyond what Midgard had accomplished, with one or two notable exceptions. He was forced to learn to do things the way his ancestors had done them. While there were some on Asgard who used such ancient devices, just as there were some on Earth who used devices even they considered antiques, Thor had never been one of them. As a prince, he had been trained in the latest devices, tools, and techniques, and never expected to learn anything older.

            Sighing, he prepared to try again when he heard a voice. “Thor?”

            Instantly, Thor was out of his seat, concern gripping his heart. The voice was Jane’s, the tone somewhat worried, somewhat uncertain. It never occurred to him to ignore it.

            He crossed the living room, headed down the hall, and arrived outside the half-open door of the bathroom. Jane sat on the lid of the toilet, holding something on her lap, which she stared at, her face white as a bone.

            “Jane,” Thor said urgently, dropping to his knees next to her and reaching for her hands. “What is it? Are you unwell?”

            Jane tilted the device in her hands towards him. “I’ve been feeling…off. So I picked this up…this afternoon…I don’t know what to do.”

            Thor studied the device. It was no more than a small strip of plastic, with two small pink lines the only color. “What is it?” he asked, having never seen it before.

            Jane told him. Thor stared at her in astonishment. “ _What?_ You mean—”

            “Yeah,” Jane said softly. “It’s…Thor, what are we going to do?”

            “Are you not excited?” Thor asked tentatively.

            “No, no, I am,” Jane said quickly. She set the device aside and gripped Thor’s hands tightly. “I am,” she repeated. “I really am. It’s unexpected…but I’m excited. It’s just…I’m scared, too. What if…?” She left her sentence unfinished.

            Finishing it was unnecessary. Thor understood. He stood and pulled Jane to her feet, then wrapped her in an embrace. “I will protect you,” he promised.

            “I know,” Jane said, burying her face in his shoulder. “You always do. You don’t need to, really…but you always do.”

            Thor was silent for a moment, thinking. At last, he said, “I have an idea.”

            Jane looked up. “What?”

            Thor told her what he had been able to come up with. She nodded, gently extricated herself from his arms, and led him into the living room. He watched as she dug around through the papers on her desk, then finally emerged triumphant with a pink piece of paper with a number scrawled on it. She handed it to him, along with the telephone.

            This was ancient technology on Asgard, too, but it was technology that Thor had managed to become quite proficient in. He had no difficulty in dialing the number, waiting patiently. One ring, two, three, four…

            A moment later, he heard a voice. “Stark.”

            “Man of Iron,” Thor said gravely. “Are you well?”

            “Thor!” Stark sounded surprised but pleased. “Doing just fine. How are you? How’s London?”

            “London is fine,” Thor replied. He hesitated. “May I be permitted to ask a question?”

            “Ask away, Goldilocks.”

            Thor had learned long ago that Stark gave nicknames to everyone. “Your invitation to stay with you, should I need to. Is that still valid?”

            “Of course,” Stark replied immediately. “We’re not in Malibu anymore, though. Moved to New York. Are you coming? I’ve got a room set aside for you, I’ll make sure the sheets are clean.”

            “That depends on the answer to one more question,” Thor said slowly.

            “What’s that?”

            “Does your invitation include the Lady Jane?”

* * *

            “Are you sure you should be doing this?” Selvig asked anxiously.

            It was the grey light of dawn the following morning. Stark had extended his invitation to not only Jane, but her fellow scientists as well. They had agreed to travel by more conventional (for them) methods as soon as it was feasible for them to do so. Jane and Thor would be leaving that day, however, bags slung over their shoulders. The five of them had gone to the most secluded spot on the coast they had been able to reach in order to say their farewells.

            “I’m sure,” Jane replied. “Trust me, Eric, I’ll be fine.”

            Darcy embraced Jane warmly. “Be careful, okay? Text me when you get there, let us know you made it.”

            “I will, Darce.” Jane returned the embrace.

            Selvig embraced Jane as well. Ian stayed in the background, looking uncomfortable. Thor waited patiently until it seemed all the farewells had been said. “Are you ready, Jane?”

            Jane stepped closer to Thor and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m ready.”

            Thor put one arm around her and lifted Mjølnir with the other. “We shall meet again when you arrive in New York,” he said to the others.

            “Fly safe.” Ian managed a smile.

            Thor whirled the hammer over his head a few times, then thrust it westward without letting go. The force of the throw lifted both Thor and Jane from the ground, sending them hurtling up and out over the vast expanse of the ocean.

            Jane tried to talk to him a few times over the course of their flight, but they quickly learned that, at the speed they were traveling, conversation was nigh on impossible. Instead, they gave themselves over to smiling at one another occasionally. They were sometimes able to communicate without words, and they used that to their advantage. At one point, Jane fell asleep, her head nestled on Thor’s shoulder. He simply adjusted his grip to make her more comfortable and continued on.

            The sun rose behind them, arced overhead, and made it to the western horizon ahead of them. The shadows were lengthening and the lights beginning to come on when the outline of New York City at last appeared on the horizon. Thor let go of the hammer briefly, changing so that he and Jane now hung underneath by the shaft, as they descended to the ground.

            At last, they touched down in front of a familiar building, a tall tower in the middle of the city. Jane looked upwards in awe. “I’ve never seen it up close,” she said, her voice slightly rough with disuse. “It’s amazing.” She turned to Thor with a smile. “Not as impressive as Valhalla, but amazing nonetheless.”

            Thor returned the smile. “I am inclined to agree with you.” His arm around Jane’s shoulders, his legs slightly shaky from the long flight, he led her to the door and knocked.

            A moment later, the door opened. There stood the dark-haired man Thor remembered so well—a touch more aged, certainly, and without the glowing circle beneath his shirt, but nonetheless Tony Stark. “Hey! We’ve been looking out for you. Come on in.” He stood back to allow them access.

            “Thank you,” Thor said gravely, escorting Jane into the tower. “Friend Stark, may I present the Lady Jane Foster? Jane, this is Tony Stark, the Man of Iron.”

            Stark rolled his eyes, but both he and Jane were smiling. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Foster.”

            “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Stark.” Jane held out her hand. “And, please, call me Jane. Any friend of Thor’s…”

            “Then I insist you call me Tony. I like it when beautiful and brilliant women call me by my first name.” Stark winked as he shook her hand. This time, it was Jane’s turn to roll her eyes. “Your other friends decided not to come with you?”

            “They chose more traditional Midgardian methods of transportation,” Thor informed Stark. “They will return to New York as soon as they are able.”

            Stark nodded. “Well, I’ve got a room set up for the two of you—I assumed you’d be sharing? If I’m wrong—”

            “You’re not wrong,” Jane interrupted, quietly but firmly. Thor smiled fondly at her.

            “Cool. Anyway, I put the two of you in the southwest corner of the building.” Stark turned towards a set of double doors, talking all the while. “C’mon, I’ll show you where it is and you can drop off your stuff, and then you can come into the main living room and say hello. The whole team’s here now—everyone but Cap. I finally convinced Natasha to move in on a more-or-less permanent basis. She’s still in and out as she needs to be for whatever she’s working on, but at least we see her more than overnight once in a blue moon.”

            Thor understood very little of Stark’s commentary, but he listened politely as they entered the elevator and rose upwards. Jane’s eyes widened as the numbers counted up. “How many stories does this building _have,_ anyway?”

            “A lot. The top ten are pretty much straight-up labs, of various types—there’s even an astronomy lab, which might interest you—and then there’s a Quinjet hangar, which takes up a few stories, plus an underground garage. There’s a training gym that takes up three stories, another gym that takes two, plus a floor with a swimming pool for anyone who likes that kind of thing. So far I’ve got five floors set aside just for sleeping areas, plus there are three or four different lounge areas, and that’s saying nothing of the kitchen and dining area, which takes up an entire floor itself. All told…there are ninety-one floors, and the elevator stops at eighty-six of them.”

            “Compensating much?” Jane raised an eyebrow.

            “Hey now,” Stark said, looking somewhat offended.

            “She does have a point, sir,” a disembodied voice said.

            Stark smirked. “I didn’t ask your opinion, J.A.R.V.I.S.”

            Jane’s face lit up. “You have an A.I.?”

            “You might be the first person to ever recognize that right off,” Stark said, laughing. “Yeah, J.A.R.V.I.S. pretty much runs the place. I couldn’t get by without him. By the way, remind me to get you two access cards for the elevators.”

            “Access cards?” Thor repeated. The presence of the being within Stark’s computers did not surprise him; Asgard had several such guardians and gatekeepers. However, the idea of “access cards” was beyond him.

            Stark nodded. “Originally, there were a lot of things to do with Stark Industries here. Now, though, it’s just for us—for the Avengers, I mean—so I installed the access card system in all three elevators and the stairwells. You can get into the building—onto the first floor—if you’re _really_ determined, but you can’t get _off_ that floor without a card.” He held up the bright red card clipped to his belt; Thor noted that it had a gold symbol traced onto it that looked a great deal like the Man of Iron’s mask. “Those are for residents, and frequent visitors. So, like I said, I’ll make ones for you two. I’ll even do it tonight.”

            “Thank you,” Thor said.

            “You take security pretty seriously,” Jane observed.

            The elevator stopped. Stark stepped out, then waited for Jane and Thor before proceeding down the hallway. “I didn’t always. I mean, I was serious about security in that I had a pretty good alarm system, plus J.A.R.V.I.S. is always on duty, but I didn’t go quite this far.” He stopped outside a door. “This is your room.”

            Thor had no idea what to expect from the room. However, to his surprise and delight, he found a chamber at least as spacious and comfortable as his royal rooms on Asgard. There was a sitting room with a short couch and three bookshelves, mostly full. Two doors led off the room.

            “That’s the bathroom,” Stark said, pointing to the door to the left. “The bedroom is straight back. I hope this is big enough.”

            “It is more than sufficient,” Thor assured him. “Thank you.”

            Jane suddenly paled, putting a hand to her mouth. “Excuse me—” she managed, then ran for the bathroom door.

            Stark looked startled. “Is she okay?”

            Thor hesitated. “She’s fine. One moment, please.” Picking up the bag Jane had dropped in her haste, he walked into the bedroom.

            It was airy and spacious, with a bed far larger than the one Thor and Jane had shared in her London apartment, a closet, and three dressers. Thor placed their bags on the bed—they had brought no more than the essentials, and Darcy and Selvig had promised to send along the remainder of Jane’s things (Thor had very little). After a moment’s hesitation, he laid Mjølnir on top of the long dresser for safekeeping. It would come if he needed it.

            He reemerged into the sitting room just as the sounds of a flushing toilet came from the bathroom. A moment later, Jane returned, still looking pale, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry,” she muttered.

            “No worries,” Stark said easily, although he still looked concerned. “Come on. Everyone else is probably in the living room on the seventy-eighth floor.”

            “I am never gonna learn my way around this building,” Jane muttered, leaning into Thor. He placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

            “I’ll get you a map,” Stark said breezily.

            Thor pulled the door closed behind them. “What level is this?” he asked Stark as they got into the elevator.

            “Seventy-five.” Stark pressed a button. The elevator quickly rose a short way, then stopped and opened onto a carpeted room. A short flight of steps led down to the room, which had several couches covered in leather and velvet arranged in an open square.

            There were four other people in the room. A square-jawed man with short blond hair sat on the arm of the sofa, his arms around his knees. A young woman with straight red hair sat nearby, her legs drawn up beneath her. Opposite her was a man with dark hair beginning to turn grey and a pair of square golden spectacles perched on the end of his nose. All three were known to Thor. The fourth, however, was an unknown, a young man scarcely out of boyhood, with fair, curly hair and a wide-eyed, innocent expression, whose arm was bound and immobilized.

            The blond man was the first to notice them. He leapt to his feet, smiling. “Glad you two made it okay. How was the trip?”

            “Uneventful,” Thor said, in the same breath as Jane said, “ _Boring._ ”

            Stark laughed as the other three looked up. “Same difference.”

            Thor drew Jane forward. “This is the Lady Jane Foster.”

            “I’ve heard of you, Dr. Foster,” the blond said, his smile deepening. “Selvig talked about you all the time. I’m Clint Barton.”

            “Oh, yeah, Eric’s told me all about you,” Jane said, smiling in reply and holding out her hand. “He sends his regards.”

            “Tell him I said hello when you speak to him next.” Barton accepted Jane’s hand, shaking it.

            “This is Dr. Bruce Banner and Agent Natasha Romanoff,” Stark said, joining them. “And the kid here is Agent Leo Fitz…Fitz, since you’re the only one who hasn’t met him yet, this is Thor.”

            The one called Fitz looked up with wide eyes. “It’s—it’s an honor to meet you, sir,” he said, stumbling over his words. His voice had an accent similar to Ian’s, at least to Thor’s ears.

            “The honor is mine,” Thor said, bowing. He almost said something about Romanoff and Fitz having the same first name, but caught himself just in time. _“Agent” is a title,_ he reminded himself. _Like “doctor.” The Son of Coul was an agent as well._

            Fitz blushed. Stark grinned. “Have a seat, you two. Let’s get caught up.”

            Romanoff slid over to make room for Jane and Thor on the couch. She studied Jane for a moment, then smiled slowly. The look in her eyes reminded Thor, painfully, of Loki in their younger days—mischievous and knowing all at once. She said nothing, however.

            Stark sprawled next to Banner. “I actually thought you might be the pizza guy. Wasn’t sure what time you guys were getting here, but I ordered a couple of large pizzas for dinner. You must be hungry.”

            “Starving,” Jane said.

            Barton resumed his perch. “How’s Selvig doing these days, Jane?”

            Jane looked up with a smile. “Much better, thanks. Took him until about eight months ago to get rid of the last of it, but once he did, you’d never know there’d been an issue. I guess you managed to shake it off, too.”

            “Shake what off?” Barton asked. He had stopped smiling.

            “Being possessed or whatever it was. The aftereffects.”

            “I didn’t—” Barton broke off. A frown creased his brow. “What kind of aftereffects are we talking about here?”

            The others were staring at Jane. Thor resisted the urge to gather her protectively to him; she had proven her strength, and besides, these were friends. They would never harm her. She frowned, too. “Well—in Eric’s case, he wound up in a mental hospital for about eighteen months, off and on. Darcy and Ian got him out while Thor and I were on Asgard, and…he snapped out of it, I guess.”

            “Eight months ago,” Barton said, almost as if to himself. “This would have been—November sometime?”

            Thor was still unfamiliar with the names of months on Midgard. Jane, however, nodded. “Yeah, mid-November.”

            Fitz opened his mouth, then closed it, blushing. Stark looked up quickly at Barton. “Eighteen months. That could be why—”

            “That wasn’t because I’d been possessed,” Barton interrupted quietly. “That was all me. It’s a nice thought, Tony, but I told you at the time, that wasn’t because I’d been possessed, it was because I wasn’t there.”

            Thor frowned in confusion, wondering what Barton had done that Stark wished to blame on Loki. Jane looked from Stark to Barton and back, her own puzzlement obviously increasing. Before she could open her mouth, however, Fitz spoke up timidly. “We—my team, I mean, the S.H.I.E.L.D. team I’m part of—we were in London just after you left, sir. After your fight with…whatever it was.”

            “Malekith,” Thor supplied. He looked at the young man with greater interest. “What were you doing in London?”

            “Cleaning up. Making sure nothing got…left behind that shouldn’t have been. That sort of thing.”

            Thor knew he had been rather hasty in his battle and caused a great deal of damage, which he had been unable to take the time to repair; he had been surprised, upon his return, to find it mostly back to normal. It had never occurred to him that S.H.I.E.L.D. would have been the ones to undertake those repairs. “I thank you for that. I would have done it myself, had I the time, and I do apologize for leaving a mess for you to clean up.”

            Fitz looked up with a smile. “It’s all right. C—our leader joked about it a bit, but we didn’t mind, really.”

            “I remember seeing a bunch of people in suits swarming over the area,” Jane mused. “I figured they were S.H.I.E.L.D., but I didn’t think any of them would have been too happy to see me, or taken the time to talk to me if I’d tried.”

            “We might have,” Fitz said slowly. “But…we were kind of busy.”

            “I totally understand.” Jane smiled.

            Stark looked up at Thor. “I assume you went back to Asgard after your fight? When did you come back?”

            “Not too many days later,” Thor replied. “I spoke with my father, and…decided to return to Midgard, to be with Jane.”

            “First person to make a _Hercules_ crack dies,” Romanoff said, waving a finger at Barton and Stark. Both men looked disappointed, though Thor had no idea why that was. “How’s your brother?”

            Thor squared his shoulders, looking directly at Barton as he spoke. “He’s dead.”

            Selvig, upon receiving the news, had uttered thanks to an unnamed god, and Thor expected no less from Barton, who had been quite angry towards Loki during the Battle of Manhattan. To his surprise, however, there was nothing in Barton’s eyes but sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

            “Wait, what?” Banner blurted, speaking for the first time since Thor and Jane’s arrival. “You’re _sorry_ that—no offense, Thor, but you’re _sorry_ that a complete psychopath who messed around in your brain is dead? Not to _mention_ …” He trailed off.

            “I’d’ve thought you’d be pleased to hear that,” Stark added.

            Barton shook his head without taking his eyes off of Thor. “Whatever else he may have been, whatever he might have done, he was still your brother,” he said quietly. “I’m not sorry for _him._ I’m sorry for _you._ ”

            “What happened?” Romanoff asked.

            “It’s a rather complicated story,” Thor said slowly, still startled by Barton’s ability to sympathize with his loss despite Loki’s actions. “Suffice it to say that we were fighting the Dark Elves, and Loki took a blow that was aimed at me.”

            Romanoff bit her lip. Barton nodded slowly. “Like I said, whatever else he might have been or done, he was still your brother.”

            Jane squeezed Thor’s hand gently. He managed a smile for her, then looked up at Barton. “You’re—far more forgiving than Selvig was.”

            Barton shrugged. “I’ve had more practice.”

            Stark opened his mouth, then evidently thought better of whatever he had planned to say. He shook his head and said, “When I called last month to invite you guys out here, you said you’d be staying in London unless something drastic happened—like HYDRA bothering you. What changed?”

            Thor hesitated. “Truthfully, friend Stark, when you first contacted us, I considered myself equal of any threat that may have arisen. I was confident that Jane could take care of herself adequately well, and that I could protect her against anything she could not handle. But…under the present circumstances…I worry, perhaps unnecessarily.”

            “You’re talking in circles,” Banner observed.

            Romanoff looked at Jane, a smile playing about her lips once more. “‘Under the present circumstances.’ Does that mean what I think it means?”

            Thor was about to say that he did not possess the ability to read minds when Jane smiled shyly in response. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

            “Hey, that’s awesome! When, do you know?”

            “Not for certain, but I’m thinking December or January.”

            “Okay, wait a minute,” Stark interrupted. “You two ladies are leaving out huge chunks of conversation. We’re men, we don’t do well with that sort of thing. What does it mean? What’s going on?”

            Thor had to admit that the conversation had bewildered _him_ somewhat, and _he_ knew the answer to the inadvertent riddle. He tightened his arm around Jane’s shoulders. “Jane is with child.”

            Fitz’s eyes widened with almost childish astonishment. All four of the men stared at Thor with their mouths open, saying nothing. Romanoff smirked. “I wish I had some popcorn for target practice.”

            Stark closed his mouth and swallowed hard. “ _How?_ ” he managed.

            Jane raised an eyebrow. “The usual way.”

            Fitz promptly turned a bright and brilliant red and cut his eyes away from Jane and Thor. Not that the others seemed significantly less embarrassed. Romanoff, however, began to laugh. Jane joined in.

            Stark groaned. “Great. They’ve bonded _already_. We’re in trouble.”

            Barton laughed, obviously startled out of his shock. “Congratulations, you two,” he said, his voice sincere. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

            “I don’t know,” Jane replied, shaking her head. “I only found out yesterday. I guess I’m only about nine or ten weeks along. Anyway, I haven’t been to a doctor yet.”

            “I could probably build an ultrasound machine,” Stark offered. “Take me maybe a day or two, but I can put one together.”

            “What is an—ultrasound?” Thor asked. It sounded as though it were merely a loud noise, but surely a machine for producing loud noises would not be necessary or helpful when a woman was expecting a child.

            Stark and Banner both opened their mouths, but Romanoff beat them to it. “It’s a way of seeing inside a person’s body using sound waves to create pictures—like echolocation.” She smiled. “That’s a really simplistic way of putting it, but it gets the point across, and if I’d let either of them explain we’d be sitting here until we were all thirty years dead of old age.”

            Stark and Banner both looked offended, but Jane laughed. “The curse of the academics. When you get us on a topic we know a lot about, we never shut up.”

            “Excuse _me,_ ” Stark said, looking even more offended than before. “I am _not_ an academic, thank you. I actually _do_ things with my knowledge.”

            “So do I,” Fitz said, in a somewhat timid voice. “But I—I still tend to ramble when I start in on something. It used to drive W—” He stopped, biting his lips. A look of terrible pain came into his eyes.

            The voice of Stark’s sentinel broke into the conversation. “Excuse me, sir, but there is a pizza deliveryman on the front step, vainly searching for a doorbell.”

            Stark jumped to his feet. “Be right back.” As he headed towards the elevator, he ruffled Fitz’s hair in passing. It did, at least, serve to relax the young man somewhat.

            Once the elevator had begun to descend, Jane turned to the others with a frown. “Could he really build an ultrasound machine?”

            “Probably,” Barton said. “He built a hearing-test booth…pretty much overnight, about a week or so back. _And_ it worked. So yeah, he could probably design a machine that would do an ultrasound _and_ genetic screening for diseases you’ve never even heard of, and have it built in a couple of days.”

            “What did he need a hearing-test booth for?”

            “Me. I…it’s a long story.” Barton looked slightly uncomfortable. “But he built the booth, figured out how significant my hearing loss was, and designed and built a couple of super-advanced hearing aids with…a chameleon circuit.”

            “So…what, they can look like a police box?” Jane asked, raising an eyebrow.

            Fitz brightened. “You watch _Doctor Who?_ ”

            Jane smiled. “Sweetie, I was living in London, it was practically compulsory.”

            “It is a greatly enjoyable program,” Thor said gravely. Darcy had forced him to sit through practically the entire run of the show, dating back fifty years to grainy black-and-white footage that intrigued him solely because it was so old on Asgard that _nobody_ used it. He rather liked the colorful costumes of the Fourth Doctor.

            Banner pulled a face. “I never could get into it. I just—I tried watching it when I was in college, but I didn’t get it…”

            “Who was the Doctor when you were in college?” Fitz asked.

            “Uh, Sylvester McCoy, I think?”

            “Oh, God, no _wonder._ He was probably my least favorite out of all of them.”

            “Try Eccleston,” Jane advised. “The first one of the ‘New Who.’ He was pretty awesome.”

            “Tennant was better,” Romanoff said.

            “Well, he was _cuter,_ I’ll give you that, but Nine will always be _my_ doctor.”

            Barton pulled a face. “Am I seriously the only person here who’s never seen the show?”

            “Apparently,” Thor replied, somewhat startled. “I’m sorry, I—I assumed everyone on Mi—Earth had seen it.”

            “Seems that way sometimes,” Barton agreed. “But I don’t watch a lot of television.”

            “Neither do I,” Banner said. “Not since college, anyway.” He shrugged, a little awkwardly. “And most of that was Betty’s idea.”

            Romanoff raised an eyebrow. “ _Betty?_ ”

            “She was my girlfriend for…a long time,” Banner said, his voice somewhat defensive. “Betty Ross. The general’s daughter.”

            “I’m sorry, but naming your child _Betty Ross_ is just cruel. Was she born on the fourth of July, too?”

            “Uh…yeah, actually.”

            “Oh, my _God._ ” Romanoff rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

            Thor looked at Jane. “I have no idea what is going on.”

            “I’ll explain later,” Jane promised, patting his arm.

            The doors slid open a moment later, and Stark reappeared with three flat, white boxes balanced on his hand. “Pizza time! Do you want to eat here or in the kitchen?”

            Thor had no preference, and was about to say so, when he noticed that both Barton and Romanoff had turned their attentions to Fitz. The young man blushed, then stammered, “It—it might be easier if—if we just stay here.”

            “Okay, no problem.” Stark set the boxes on the table. “Help yourselves…Fitz, what kind do you want?”

            “Uh—sausage, please.”

            It was Thor’s first experience with pizza. It consisted of a flat, breadlike base, crispy on the outside but soft in the middle and somewhat flexible, topped with a sauce that was reminiscent of the kind Ian made for spaghetti, then smothered in a thick layer of cheese. One of them was also topped with crumbled bits of spiced meat; the other was scattered with green peppers, onions, and mushrooms. Thor found himself needing two hands to handle a slice.

            “How do you manage this?” Thor asked Fitz.

            “With difficulty,” Fitz grumbled. He had folded the slice in half and struggled to maneuver it successfully into his mouth. “This isn’t my dominant hand anyway.”

            “How were you injured?” Thor asked. He had been curious about the injury from the moment he arrived, but the time to ask had never seemed right.

            Fitz stopped eating, staring at the slice of pizza. Thor wondered at first if he had seen something on it he deemed inedible, but then he noticed that the others had stopped eating, too. They looked at one another, then at Fitz. Jane looked up at Thor, her expression one of concern.

            Thor set down his pizza. “If I have asked an inappropriate question…”

            “No, no, it’s—it’s natural you’d ask,” Fitz said softly. “I just…I’m not sure how to explain it.”

            Thor tried to figure out how to ease the young man’s tale out. “Did it have to do with HYDRA?” he asked at last.

            Fitz nodded slowly. “Yeah. It—Jemma and I got caught scoping out our Bus—some HYDRA members had hijacked it—and they dragged us up in front of the leader. We managed to escape, but…one of them tracked us down. We locked ourselves in one of the pods, and—and he jettisoned it.” He swallowed hard. “We were over the ocean. My arm got broken on impact and Jemma got knocked out.”

            “Who’s Jemma?” Jane asked.

            “My—my friend and my lab partner, Agent Jemma Simmons. She’s biochem, I’m tech.” Fitz blushed slightly.

            Thor smiled. It was obvious—to him, at least—that Fitz thought a good deal of this Agent Simmons. “Is she all right?”

            “Yeah, she’s fine. She was a little battered and bruised, but that’s all healed long since.” Fitz toyed with his pizza slice. “A few people on the team were hurt, one way or another. I think I’m the only one who’s still got any lasting effects…well, physically, anyway.”

            “And otherwise?” Thor prompted, his smile disappearing.

            Fitz hesitated. “I—I think it’s going to take us all a long time to get over what happened.”

            Jane bit her lip, but Thor nodded slowly. “From what I understand, many of the HYDRA agents were hiding as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Is that correct?”

            “It is.” Fitz’s voice trembled slightly. “Uh, m-most of them were. Almost all of them.”

            “Then I can understand your feelings. Nothing is more disconcerting than being betrayed by one you thought of as an ally.” Thor paused, then added softly, “Except betrayal by one you thought of as a friend. Or a brother.”

            “Yeah.” Fitz bowed his head. “The—the agent who—he was part of our team. He was—I thought he was our friend…”

            “Oh.” Thor felt horrible. Suddenly he frowned as a thought occurred to him. He looked up sharply at Barton. “You knew of this?”

            Barton looked startled. “Yeah, I did. I was there when Simmons had Fitz brought to—well, we were still in Malibu at that point—so he could recover. She told us basically what happened, and Fitz filled in the rest when he woke up.”

            “And knowing that—knowing that people close to Fitz had done the same as Loki—you are still able to feel sympathy with me for his death?” Thor asked incredulously.

            “That was different,” Barton said quietly. “From what I’ve heard—and please, correct me if I’m wrong—up until you got ditched in New Mexico, or just before that, Loki really _was_ your brother. He didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t. When he went to the bad, he was more or less upfront about it. Ward was HYDRA all along.”

            “He thought he owed something to Garrett,” Fitz said, looking up.

            “Whatever his reasoning, Fitz, he was deceiving you from day one. He let you think he was on your side, he let you think he cared—maybe he did, I don’t know, but the fact is that he was always HYDRA. And what’s worse, he kept up the deception even _after_ you knew about everyone else—or almost everyone else. Which made the betrayal, when it came, even _more_ painful.” Barton placed his hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “It’s the opposite of what I told Thor earlier. However much Ward may have acted—or been—your friend, he’s still HYDRA.”

            “He could change,” Fitz protested.

            “The guy burned down his parents’ house _while his brother was inside it,_ Fitz,” Stark said, his brows meeting in something between concern and a frown. “And that was _before_ Garrett got ahold of him. He’s not gonna change.”

            “But—”

            “Fitz,” Romanoff said, with a gentleness Thor had been unaware she possessed. “Trust us, okay? We’ve been around the block a time or two. We’ve never met this guy but we _know._ ”

            “We just don’t want you getting hurt again.” Banner’s voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

            Fitz turned an imploring gaze on Thor. But if he expected Thor to defend the unknown Ward, he was mistaken. “Until the moment he saved my life, I saw little to no indication that my brother still remained within Loki. I no longer held that hope. In the case of those like Loki and Ward, it is better to assume they will do you harm and, very occasionally, be surprised.”

            Tears flooded Fitz’s eyes, and he looked down at his lap again. “I just—I don’t know how to exist if I can’t trust people,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to live in that kind of world.”

            “You’re lucky, then,” Jane muttered. “If you’ve never run into people you couldn’t trust.”

            “Personal experience, Dr. Foster?” Stark raised an eyebrow.

            Jane shrugged. “The way the world is these days, how do you tell the bad guys from the good guys?”

            “According to Steve,” Romanoff said, a slight smile tugging at her mouth, “the bad guys are the ones shooting at you.”

            “Steve?” Jane frowned.

            “Rogers,” Thor supplied, remembering the blond soldier who had directed the fight against the Chitauri. “You’ve seen him? He is well?”

            “He’s fine,” Romanoff assured him. “He’s off on a mission of his own, but he’ll be back once he’s done with that.”

            Banner leaned forward just then. “Sorry, not to change the subject, but—you mentioned a Selvig. Eric Selvig?”

            Jane looked startled. “Yeah. You know him?”

            “We worked together at Culver. Pretty sure he thought I was a complete jerk. Which, well, wasn’t entirely inaccurate,” Banner said, a bit sheepish. “Before the accident…before I got in control of the other guy, sort of, I was kind of an arrogant, closed-off son of a bitch.”

            “I doubt that, but you can ask him what he thinks when he gets back to New York,” Jane said. “Might be a month or so—they’ve got to get Ian’s passport sorted out and all, but…”

            Stark snorted. “You think _you_ were an arrogant son of a bitch? I was probably worse. No, I was _definitely_ worse, and I hadn’t gotten much better by the time we got thrown together on the Avengers Initiative. You remember what I was like, Nat, you moonlighted as my secretary for a while.”

            “And you were an asshole,” Romanoff agreed. “Then again, I wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue before S.H.I.E.L.D. got ahold of me, either. I mean, I was an assassin for the KGB. I wasn’t kidding when I said I had a lot of red in my ledger. Still do, I guess.”

            “Whilst we are in a confessing mood,” Thor said gravely, “I, too, was less than I should have been before we fought together against Loki and the Chitauri.” He recalled his youth—and it _was_ youth; he had begun to mature after meeting Jane in the first place, but he had still been arrogant and angry and young when he returned to fight Loki. “I was a prince of Asgard, the heir to my father’s throne, and I acted like it—and not in the way I should have. I thought only of my own glory, and not of the consequences of my actions or how they affected others.”

            “I think you’re the only member of the Avengers who _wasn’t_ less than a hero before S.H.I.E.L.D. got involved,” Stark said, looking up at Barton with a definite smirk. “Even Rogers had his issues.”

            Barton shrugged. “Who says I didn’t? I was just…not as exciting of a not-hero.”

            “Dude. I’ve read your S.H.I.E.L.D. file. _And_ I’ve double-checked it. You’ve always been, like, actually a good person.”

            “If you say so. But I was just a soldier. Nothing special. I wasn’t a hero. Still not.”

            “Calling bullshit on that right now,” Romanoff said.

            “They’re right,” Fitz said softly. “You’re a hero. A good one.”

            Thor frowned, still slightly puzzled. “Why would you call upon the excrement of cattle?”

            Jane groaned and covered her eyes as the others—even Fitz—burst into laughter. “It’s just a saying, Thor.”

            The comment, for whatever reason, eased the heavy mood that had settled on them. They finished the pizzas with lighthearted banter and merriment. Thor found himself enjoying both the company and the food itself. Jane, too, smiled broadly and seemed to be having a good time.

            When the last slice of pizza disappeared, Barton collected the boxes and disposed of them, but no one seemed inclined to leave the camaraderie of the gathering. Lights came on as the world outside darkened, and they drew closer, perhaps unconsciously. The chatter and laughter continued until Fitz stifled a yawn with his uninjured hand.

            “Tired, kid?” Stark asked, an odd, soft look on his face. It reminded Thor, suddenly and painfully, of the way his mother had looked at Loki from time to time.

            “A little,” Fitz admitted. “Sorry.”

            “Why should you apologize?” Thor asked. “The hour is late.” He was beginning to tire himself.

            “It’s just—” Fitz looked down at his lap and mumbled something.

            “Don’t worry about it, Fitz. This won’t last forever.” Barton patted his shoulder sympathetically as he moved past him.

            Fitz lifted his head and attempted a smile. “Feels like it sometimes.”

            Thor’s question died on his lips as Barton came back around the sofa, pushing a black chair with armrests on either side and two large wheels, plus two smaller ones. Stark rose from his seat, lifted Fitz from the sofa, and placed him in the chair. “There. C’mon, I’ll give you a hand tonight.”

            “Thank you,” Fitz said softly. “Uh, goodnight, everyone.”

            Thor, along with the others, wished Fitz a good night as well, and then Stark pushed him towards the elevator again.

            Once the doors had closed, Jane turned to Romanoff. A kinship had sprung up between the two of them. “I didn’t realize he was…”

            “It’s psychosomatic,” Romanoff said quietly. “The trauma of what Ward did to him…and then Simmons almost getting killed, too…there’s nothing physically wrong with his legs, he can feel just fine, but he can’t move them. He’ll recover, eventually, but for now, he needs the wheelchair to get around. And with his broken arm, he can’t get himself in and out of it, and he can’t wheel himself around. So he’s pretty dependent on us right now.”

            Thor felt a rush of sympathy for the young man—and a surge of rage against the man who had hurt him. “Tell me—where would I be likely to find this Ward?”

            “He’s in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody,” Barton replied quickly. “C—the team Fitz is a part of captured him, not long after Fitz got hurt.”

            “Is his prison secure?” Thor pressed.

            “Extremely,” Romanoff assured him. “The team keeps constant vigilance on him. And they’re making sure he pays for what he did.”

            Jane looked worried. “You’re not—you don’t mean torture, do you?”

            Barton and Romanoff exchanged glances. Thor understood immediately. He was a warrior; he knew the sorts of things that happened in war, and to prisoners of war. What Jane considered torture was par for the course.

            “Dr. Foster,” Barton said quietly. “Do you have any idea how old Fitz is? He’s twenty-six. A child. He trusted Ward completely. The whole team did, but…a couple of weeks before Thor here came back to Earth, they got called for a mission that involved Fitz and Ward getting sent to retrieve an extremely dangerous device from an extremely perilous situation. With no extraction plan. Fitz’s _life_ was in Ward’s hands…and Ward got him out of there. Do you get what I’m saying?”

            “It sounds to _me_ like you’re saying Ward isn’t all bad,” Jane protested.

            Thor shook his head. “He saved Fitz’s life and then attempted to kill him later? That makes the betrayal worse, Jane. He taught Fitz that he could be trusted, that he could be relied upon, that he would protect those he cared about. And then he did the opposite.”

            “Frankly,” Romanoff said, “the team’s letting him off pretty easy. It’s mostly mental torture. Mostly,” she added.

            Banner nodded soberly. “When you meet the team, Dr. Foster, you’ll understand. This—this isn’t a team that deserved that kind of betrayal. I mean, nobody _deserves_ that kind of betrayal, but…especially not these guys.”

            At the sight of Jane’s deeply skeptical face, Thor rose to his feet. “I believe it is time we were in bed as well…it has been a long day, after all, and you need your rest, Jane.”

            “Good idea.” Barton rocketed to his feet, looking relieved. “Come on, I’ll get you in with my card tonight. Tony will have cards for you in the morning.”

            “Thank you,” Thor said gravely. “Goodnight, Romanoff…Banner.”

            “’Night.” Romanoff smiled wanly. Banner simply nodded.

            Jane kept silent as they descended to the appropriate floor, for which Thor was grateful. Barton held the elevator door open. “Goodnight, you two.”

            “Goodnight, Barton,” Thor said.

            “’Night,” Jane said, a little absently.

            Thor escorted her to their room; they changed and climbed into the bed. It was as soft and comfortable as Thor’s had been on Asgard, and there was plenty of space, but Jane curled into the circle of Thor’s arms. Both of them drew comfort from the contact and closeness.

            “They seem like nice people,” Jane murmured at last.

            “They are,” Thor assured her. “I know them but little, yet they are my friends. We all grew to be better people during the Battle of Manhattan.”

            “I feel bad for that Fitz kid, though.” Jane’s voice was drowsy. “Anyone who was his friend can’t be all bad…”

            She gave a small sigh and closed her eyes. Thor, however, remained awake, watching her sleep and wondering how someone so intelligent and worldly could be so innocent at the same time.

* * *

            Thor stood by the window, looking out across the skyline of New York while Jane busied herself in the bathroom the next morning. It was a bustling metropolis, one which seemed to have put itself back together adequately well after the Chitauri—and the Avengers, it must be admitted—tore it apart. Some cars still had their headlights on, but most did not, as they wended their ways through the streets. The noise of the traffic did not filter up to them; Stark had soundproofed the building well.

            Though there were a number of structures of varying heights, clustered quite close together, here and there were glimpses of the natural world. There was a large, verdant park towards the center of the city, with trees and a play area and even a zoo. And beyond that, sparkling in the rising sun, was the harbor. The water was none too clean, he had noticed that as they flew over, but it was still water, and he was still able to draw some small comfort from it.

            The knock at the door startled Thor. He opened it to find Romanoff, her hair curly today, wearing a grey-and-yellow-striped shirt and a pair of blue jeans. “Morning,” she said.

            “Good morning,” Thor said courteously.

            “Thought I’d escort you two to the lab, if you don’t mind. Tony’s been there all night, according to J.A.R.V.I.S., so he’s probably got your cards done. Once you’ve got those, you won’t have to wait for someone else to fetch you before you can get off the floor in the morning.” Romanoff said all of this without a smile.

            “Thank you. Jane will be out momentarily.”  Thor studied Romanoff’s serious countenance. “Have I done something to offend you?”

            “Huh? Oh—no, no. And neither did Jane. It’s just…” Romanoff sighed. “Haven’t heard from Steve in a while. I’m getting worried.”

            “I am sure he can take care of himself.”

            “I’m sure he can, too, but I still worry. The thing is, he’s looking for his best friend—Bucky Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier—it’s a long story. But he’s so focused on that that I don’t think he’s looking out for HYDRA, and…I worry.”

            “You said that already,” Thor observed.

            Romanoff laughed, a little reluctantly. “Yeah, well…I don’t worry much, especially about someone like Steve, but when I do, I get repetitive.”

            Jane came out of the bathroom then and smiled. “Good morning, Natasha.”

            “Morning, Jane.” Romanoff tried to smile in reply. “Come on, let’s go get your cards.”

            Jane and Romanoff chattered about inconsequential things as the elevator ascended, finally disgorging them on the eighty-seventh floor. The lab was similar to the workshops on Asgard, although furnished in cooler blues and grays as opposed to the warmer golds and browns to which Thor was accustomed. Stark stood surrounded by images suspended in midair, including what appeared to be a document of some kind. He looked up and quickly waved a hand, removing the document from his airspace. “Hey! You guys are up late.”

            “Early, Stark, it’s early,” Romanoff said, smirking, which was gratifying to see—it was at least better than her strained and worried expressions of before. “It’s almost eight in the morning.”

            Stark paused. “I knew that.”

            Jane rolled her eyes. Thor concealed a smile. “We are here to retrieve our access cards.”

            “Right over here.” Stark led them over to a table.

            Thor studied the small rectangles of plastic with interest. There were ten laid out on the table. Stark pointed to one on the end. “That one’s yours, Elmer.”

            Ignoring the incomprehensible nickname, Thor picked up the card. It was the same dark red as the cloak of his uniform, with a stylized image of Mjølnir etched onto it in silver and bronze. “Thank you,” he said.

            “Yours is the one next to it,” Stark said to Jane. Jane retrieved hers and showed it to Thor. It appeared black at first, but was actually a dark, inky blue, speckled with silver stars.

            “Who are these for?” Romanoff asked, reaching for the first.

            “Don’t touch,” Stark said sharply. Romanoff withdrew her hand. “There’s a biometric sensor in them. They’ll imprint to the first person who touches them, and then only that person can use them. Yours did the same—didn’t you notice I handed them to you wearing gloves or using tongs, or had you pick them up off the lab tables?”

            “That’s so cool,” Jane breathed.

            Thor slipped his access card into the brown leather wallet Selvig had given him for Christmas and studied the other cards. Five of them were identical, or nearly identical—black cards with the white logo Thor recalled from the helicarrier—the logo of S.H.I.E.L.D. The only difference was that they each had silver letters in the lower right corner: MM, JS, AT, S, and DPC. The remaining three cards were distinct. One was colored and patterned in the same manner as Captain America’s shield; one was bright red, with a drawing of a falcon, wings outspread, in gold. The third was black, with three golden chevrons.

            “I presume that this one is for Rogers,” he said, indicating the red, white, and blue one, “and that these five are for Fitz’s teammates. But these two, I do not know at all.”

            “The red one with the falcon is for Sam Wilson,” Stark said. “He’s Cap’s new friend, and he was part of the EXO-7 Falcon project—prototype wings—in Afghanistan. The other one is for Barnes.”

            Romanoff raised an eyebrow. “You really think Steve’ll bring him here when he finds him?”

            “Yeah. It’s probably the safest place _for_ a genetically-engineered super-soldier—especially one that’s been brainwashed, tortured, and turned into a weapon by HYDRA,” Stark said seriously. “I’ve already set aside a floor for them.”

            “Sounds good to me. Hope they turn up to use it soon. Anyone for breakfast?” Romanoff abruptly turned for the elevator.

            Jane looked up at Thor, then hurried to catch up with Romanoff. Thor turned to Stark, who looked bewildered. “What did I miss?”

            “Romanoff is concerned about Rogers,” Thor explained. “It has been longer than she would prefer since he contacted her. She worries that he may be so focused on finding—Barnes, is it?—that he will neglect the danger of HYDRA. It seems to me to be a valid concern.”

            A look of worry came into Stark’s eyes. “Damn. Never thought of that…but you’re right. Hell. Maybe I should call him later tonight…but I don’t want to call if he’s in the middle of an op, I might blow his cover.”

            Thor pointed to the falcon card. “He has a friend with him, does he not? He is not alone. And when he finds his other friend, together they will be on their guard against the forces of HYDRA.”

            “Yeah. Yeah. You’re right.” Stark took a deep breath. “You hungry, big guy? Let’s go grab breakfast.”

            “After you, friend Stark.” Thor bowed towards the elevator.

            They turned out to be the last ones to the dining area. Even Fitz was there, in his wheeled chair, smiling as Barton served stacks of pancakes to everyone. To Thor’s eye, however, the smile looked a touch on the wan side, much like Romanoff’s. Thor concluded that he, too, was concerned about someone.

            For a while, conversation flowed as freely as it had the night before. As forks began to scrape the bottoms of plates, everyone gradually drifted into silence. Thor, observing Fitz out of the corner of one eye, noticed him pushing the last bite absently around. He expected the young man to speak up then, but to his surprise, it was Barton who spoke with forced casualness. “Hey, uh, Fitz…you heard from Simmons lately?”

            Fitz looked up, his blue eyes clouded with worry. “No. I was going to ask if you’d heard from—” He stopped himself, biting his lip.

            “Not in a couple of weeks. Hell.” Barton ran a hand distractedly through his short blond hair. “I mean…it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. They’ve got a lot to do. But…it’s not like them to go this long without at least a quick call.”

            “Is it perhaps something about the building?” Thor suggested, glancing at Romanoff. “That could be why neither Rogers nor your friends have been in touch.”

            Stark shook his head. “It’s not anything about the building. You can call in and out, no trouble.”

            “They’re probably busy,” Banner pointed out. “After all, C—the leader of your team _is_ the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

            “Director Fury?” Thor asked, surprised.

            Stark turned to Thor in equal astonishment. “Didn’t I tell you? Fury’s dead. There’s a new director and…anyway, he’s rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. from scratch. _Plus_ they’re battling the forces of HYDRA. So…I guess it could be that they’re too busy to contact us much. At the same time, like Clint said, it’s not like them to go so long.”

            “Can you not call them?” Thor asked.

            “We don’t—like to disturb them,” Fitz said, stumbling over his words slightly.

            Jane shrugged. “Well—the worst that can happen is they don’t answer.”

            “No, the _worst_ that can happen is a loud, obnoxious ringtone goes off at precisely the wrong time, exposing a black ops and getting all of them _killed,_ ” Romanoff replied. Fitz turned white as a sheet.

            Thor gazed at Romanoff levelly. “You truly believe your friends are so stupid as to not turn off their communication devices when such possibilities are imminent?”

            Romanoff, Barton, Stark, and Fitz looked at one another. Finally, Stark spoke. “Well, he’s got a point.”

            Sheepishly, Romanoff said, “Maybe we should call after lunch.”

            “Maybe,” Barton agreed.

            No more was said on the topic at that time. Thor could tell, however, that it was still very much on the others’ minds. Only Banner seemed detached from the topic; his worry, like Thor’s and Jane’s, was not necessarily for someone absent, but for those present. As he had told Jane last night, Thor knew very little about the others, yet they were his friends. Their concern was not without reason—not about the potential of an inopportune noise giving them away, but about the safety of their friends otherwise. Calling them was certainly a good idea.

            Banner offered to give Thor and Jane a tour of Avengers Tower after breakfast, to which both agreed readily. Starting at the bottom and working their way to the top, Banner showed them living areas, storage facilities, sleeping chambers, and all of the workout rooms. Thor was pleased that at least one of them had equipment with which he was familiar, and Banner assured him that the targets in a second were sturdy enough to stand up to Mjølnir. Jane, as Stark had promised, was quite impressed with the astronomy lab, and Thor suspected she would soon be spending a good deal of her time there.

            “Well? What did you think?” Stark asked when Banner escorted them back to the living area where the others waited.

            “You weren’t kidding about the astronomy lab,” Jane said, smiling and sinking gratefully into a seat.

            Thor took a seat next to her. “It reminds me a good deal of Valhalla.”

            Barton snorted. Stark looked pleased. “Seriously?”

            “Indeed. I believe it is roughly the same size, merely…arranged differently.” The palace where Thor had grown up was more spread out and not, he thought, quite so tall. But it was equally grand. “And your technology is the nearest to Asgardian as I have yet seen on Earth.”

            “You have technology on Asgard?” Stark asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “Certainly,” Thor said, slightly offended. “As I told Jane when first we met—your ancestors called it magic. You call it science. I come from a place where they are one and the same.”

            “Then should I be offended that you think my tech is close to yours?”

            “On the contrary. Most Earth technology is behind that of Asgard by at least three generations. Yours is no more than a generation behind.”

            “A generation,” Stark repeated. “That’s it?”

            Thor frowned and turned to Jane. “How many years is a generation on Earth?”

            “It’s a very non-specific method of measuring time,” Jane answered. “But it’s usually understood to be about twenty years.”

            “Run your methods of counting multiple years by me again.”

            Jane frowned. “In decades, generations, centuries—”

            “Centuries! Your technology is about a century behind that of Asgard.”

            “Oh.” Stark stood for a moment in indecision. “Well then.”

            Romanoff started laughing. She threw her head back and positively roared. Most of the others started laughing, too, but Stark exchanged a startled glance with Thor, and the Asgardian knew that Stark, too, had caught the ragged, hysterical quality in Romanoff’s laughter. She was laughing far harder than the exchange warranted. Her nerves were strained almost to the breaking point. Sure enough, after a very few moments, Thor saw tears rolling down her face and knew that they were not tears of laughter.

            “Tasha, Tasha, chill, it’s okay,” Stark said, reaching for her shoulder. “Natasha!”

            The others ceased their merriment. Romanoff’s hand closed over Stark’s wrist. Stark’s face turned white, but he said nothing and held steady. After a minute or two, Romanoff’s expression relaxed. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, then released Stark’s wrist slowly. “Okay. I’m okay.”

            Stark withdrew his hand, rubbing at the bones of his list. “You sure?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

            “Yeah. I’m okay.” Romanoff wiped the traces of tears from her face and opened her eyes once more. “Sorry about that, I…I don’t know what came over me.”

            “I do,” Thor replied. “Concern for your comrades. Stress. Fatigue. Terror. It adds up. Something had to give.”

            “Maybe I shouldn’t wait until after lunch to try calling Steve,” Romanoff said in a low voice.

            “Perhaps,” Thor agreed.

            Romanoff was reaching for her pocket when a phone began ringing. Barton started, then reached into his own pocket and retrieved his phone. “Barton.”

            He listened for a moment, and then a warm, tender expression came to his countenance. “Hey,” he said softly. “We were worried about you guys…are you okay? Yeah, we’re fine…Thor’s here, he and Dr. Foster arrived yesterday…no, not yet. Do you—?” He stopped, glancing at Thor briefly. “Yeah, okay. When?” His whole face lit up in a smile. “Great. That’s great. We’ll be ready for you…yeah, I love you, too. See you then. ‘Bye.”

            Fitz had a desperately hopeful look on his face as Barton hung up the phone. “Are they—is the team coming to visit?”

            “Not all of them,” Barton informed him. “They’re working on something crucial—he didn’t even want to tell me what it was, at least not over the phone—but he said he couldn’t justify pulling everybody for a visit. But he and Simmons will be here within the hour.”

            “How?” Stark asked.

            “Lola.”

            This apparently made sense to Stark, who nodded, but Thor was mystified. Jane gestured to the phone. “Who was that?”

            Barton smiled again, lifting his head and shoulders slightly, as though he had somehow gained the ability to levitate himself off the ground at the very thought of his answer. “My fiancé.”

            Thor smiled, glad for a bit of happy news in the midst of the chaos and distress. “Congratulations, friend Barton. When will the wedding be?”

            “We’re not sure. Later. When everything settles down a little. We haven’t even…” Barton spread out his hands, palms up. “We’ve really only had a few days together, here and there.”

            “He’s the new director of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Banner interjected. “So he’s…pretty busy, most of the time.”

            Romanoff pulled out her phone. “While we’re waiting for them, I’m gonna call Steve.”

            “Good idea,” Stark said, looking relieved.

            Jane watched as Romanoff pressed a button, then waited, bouncing her foot slightly as she waited. She began gnawing on her lower lip. “No answer.”

            “Try calling Wilson,” Barton advised. “Steve might just be too preoccupied to answer. Or he might be out in the field, so to speak.”

            Romanoff nodded and pressed another button. Again she waited, but this time, visible relief came into her eyes. “Hey, Sam, it’s me…no, everything’s fine here. I was just wondering if you guys were okay. Haven’t heard from you in a while.” She listened intently, making occasional noises of acknowledgement or agreement. “Well, like you said, he’s probably almost ready for you to find him…yeah, best of luck…what? Yeah, I finally caved, I’m staying with Stark in New York.” She pressed the phone to her shoulder. “Sam says hi.”

            “Hello back to Sam,” Stark said. Barton and Banner nodded.

            “The guys say hello,” Romanoff said into the phone. “Yeah, and Banner’s here. So is Thor—and Jane Foster, his astrophysicist friend…what do you mean, _is that all?_ That’s the full complement of us, you asshole, except for the two of—” She paused. “Oh. No, they’re busy with something else. A couple of them are gonna stop by today…yeah, I will. Listen, you—you guys be careful, okay?” She smiled, but Thor spotted tears in her eyes. “Yeah, I will. Give Steve my love…you know what, just for that, _yes,_ I _do_ want you to give him a kiss for me, smartass.”

            Stark suddenly developed a massive coughing fit. Romanoff grabbed the nearest object to her—which happened to be a small pillow—and threw it at him, striking him square in the face. “Okay, well, just keep in touch. Good luck. I’ll talk to you later. ‘Bye.” She hung up and scowled playfully at Stark. “No comments from the peanut gallery.”

            Banner laughed. “You’re not old enough to remember that show. Hell, _I’m_ hardly old enough to remember that show.”

            “What show?” Romanoff and Jane asked simultaneously.

            “ _Howdy Doody._ Well,” Banner amended, “I actually watched _The New Howdy Doody Show,_ but…same thing, sort of.”

            “Is that where the term ‘peanut gallery’ comes from?” Barton asked, raising his eyebrows. “I never knew that.”

            “Yeah…I guess you would’ve been a little too young to really watch it, or remember it. It aired in late ’76, early ’77. But yeah, that’s where the term came from. It’s what they called the bleachers full of kids that compromised the live studio audience.” Banner sighed. “I guess it’s one of those phrases that’s passed into the common lexicon without anyone remembering the significance.”

            “What is a Howdy Doody?” Thor asked.

            Stark snickered. Banner ignored him, explaining to Thor, “It was a kid’s show—originally from the fifties, but there was a revival in the mid-seventies, like I said. Howdy Doody was the main character…he was a puppet. There were other characters, too—Clarabell the Clown and Buffalo Bob and Dilly Dally and—” He stopped and glared at Stark, who was laughing openly. “And considering you were _seven years old_ when it aired, I’m willing to bet you watched the revival every afternoon.”

            “I did,” Stark replied swiftly. “Was even in the Peanut Gallery once. It’s just hysterically funny listening to a _grown man_ saying those names in the same tone of voice he might use when listing off the Founding Fathers.”

            “Hey, when you’re seven years old, characters like that are at _least_ as important as the Founding Fathers. Maybe more.”

            Jane smiled up at Thor. “Did you have anything like that? Heroes from stories that you idolized?”

            Thor shook his head slowly. “If I understand you right, these characters were fictional. All the tales I was told as a child were true, about real heroes. Mostly about my father, to be truthful. He enjoyed talking about himself.”

            “Your mother never told you stories?” Fitz seemed surprised.

            “Not often,” Thor said, smiling fondly—and a touch sadly. “I loved my mother dearly, but I was more my father’s child—after all, I was preparing for kingship someday, or so I thought, and I preferred to spend my time with him. Loki was always closer to our mother. But even when she did tell us tales, they were also of true warriors long gone.”

            Romanoff raised one eyebrow. “I haven’t met many mothers who told war stories rather than fairy tales. Yours must’ve been pretty exceptional.”

            “Not on Asgard. My people are, by and large, a race of warriors,” Thor explained. “And my mother was queen, a warrior queen. She may have preferred magic and stealth to the outright strength and force my father used, but she was nonetheless a warrior, and one who could hold her own in battle.” He tilted his head slightly at Romanoff. “You would have liked her.”

            Romanoff’s eyes widened briefly. Stark was opening his mouth when the voice of his A.I. chimed in. “Pardon me, sir, but Lola has just pulled up to the curb out front.”

            Stark was on his feet instantly. “Open the door to the garage, would you, J.A.R.V.I.S.? Clint, I’ll be in the lab, you wanna bring them down? Then we’ll all come back up here.”

            “Can do.” Barton rose to his feet and headed for the elevator, pausing to rumple Fitz’s curls in an affectionate manner as he did so. Stark followed him.

            Romanoff was still staring at Thor. Fitz worried at his lower lip; Banner merely looked uncomfortable. Thor realized that he had been speaking about his mother in the past tense, yet he had not told his friends that she was dead. Then again, he had not even told Selvig, Darcy, and Ian that information—even in the months he had been on Earth. Only Jane knew.

            They sat in a slightly awkward silence for some minutes before the elevator doors began to open once more. Thor turned in time to see a young woman come flying out the moment there was enough space for her to do so. She had light brown hair held back with a headband and a smile on her face, although her eyes were worried, as she rushed to Fitz’s side. “Fitz, how are you?” she asked breathlessly.

            Thor at least had no difficulty in identifying her as a native of England by her accent. Fitz smiled up at her as she took his uninjured hand in both of hers. “I’m doing all right. How are you?”

            “I’m all right now.” The smile on the young woman’s face widened.

            “Nice of you to say hello to everyone, Simmons,” Stark said dryly from the direction of the elevator.

            Thor chuckled silently as he turned to see Stark. The smile froze on his face as he caught sight of the man crossing the floor, his arm around Barton’s waist.

            The man was fairly nondescript, certainly no warrior by his appearance—a relatively small man, his dark brown hair rapidly thinning and his eyes tired but kind, wearing a neat black suit and a loosened tie. Save for the fact that there was a tenderness and joy that shone from his face, one would hardly take a second look at him if one passed him on the streets.

            But Thor recognized him immediately. And he should not have been there. For the man before him had been dead some two years.

            Beside him, Jane gave a gasp. Thor rose to his feet, staring at the man. The man saw him and smiled slightly, giving a nod of greeting as he released Barton’s waist. “Thor, good to see you again.”

            “Agent Coulson,” Thor said slowly, reminding himself that the custom on Earth was to refer to such names as a single word, rather than _Son of Coul._ “Director Fury told us you were dead.”

            Coulson’s smile vanished. “I was,” he said quietly. “It’s—it’s a long story.”

            “I am glad to see you in good health once more,” Thor said with a slight bow. He thought with a pang of his mother and Loki. Whatever had brought Coulson back from the dead—science or magic—it would not help his loved ones. Loki’s body still lay upon the barren rocks where he had been forced to leave it, unless it had been devoured or ravaged by the elements, and his mother had been given a warrior’s burial. It would serve him no good to ask Coulson for an explanation.

            “Thanks.” Coulson looked up at Thor, his expression gravely serious. Softly, he added, “I heard about your mother. I’m sorry.”

            Thor couldn’t conceal his surprise. “How did you—?”

            “Lady Sif told me,” Coulson said. “She was here a few months ago.”

            Thor and Jane, who now stood at his side, exchanged startled glances. “The Lady Sif? Here? Why is that?”

            “She was chasing Lorelei.”

            “Lorelei!” Thor winced at the mention of the sorceress, who had been quite difficult to capture.

            Coulson nodded. “She’s back in Asgardian custody. Lady Sif took her back…I asked her not to say anything to you about my being alive, so—”

            “I was not on Asgard at the time. I returned to Earth shortly after—from what Fitz said—you left London.” Thor frowned slightly. “Were you—involved in the hunt for Lorelei?”

            “We gave what assistance we could, yes,” Coulson said cautiously.

            Thor glanced over his shoulder at Fitz, whose hand was still held in those of the young woman he presumed to be Simmons, then turned back to Coulson. “I trust you and your team were able to resist her powers.”

            Coulson’s eyes darkened slightly. “Not quite. She managed to put both Fitz and Ward under her thrall. Not that I’m convinced it was particularly difficult in the latter case, but…” He shook his head. “I guess I got lucky. Her voice didn’t work, and…I guess she didn’t manage to touch me. I thought she did for a moment, but I never…” His voice trailed away.

            Thor looked from Coulson to Barton and back, saw the way the two men stood, seeming to be connected even though they were no longer touching, and recalled the way Barton’s face had glowed, as if lit from within, when speaking on the phone with his fiancé, whom Thor now guessed to be Coulson. A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “Or perhaps she did. I can see that her powers would have had no effect on you.”

            “Why? Because he’s gay?” Stark asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “Bisexual,” Coulson and Barton corrected him in the same breath.

            Thor shook his head. “One’s gender preference has no effect on Lorelei’s power, from what we were ever able to determine. She has power over _all_ men—or _almost_ all men. But we discovered by accident that she has no power over one who is truly in love—one who loves another more than he loves anything else, even himself, even life itself.”

            Coulson and Barton exchanged glances. Those looks told Thor that he had been correct—that Coulson was one of the few men in the Nine Realms who was a match against Lorelei’s enchantments. Thor suspected that Barton, too, would be able to withstand her. Banner spoke up then. “I don’t understand. Love’s a very difficult thing to quantify—and here’s Fitz and Simmons, these two obviously care about each other a lot, so how come Fitz was still affected?”

            “I asked that same question of my mother,” Thor said, turning to the room at large. “Before the Lady Sif brought Lorelei into custody, she was able to affect even the Allfather himself—and surely my mother could not think my father did not truly love her?” He paused, remembering the smile on Frigga’s face, the softening of her eyes as she observed her son— _both_ of her sons. Loki had, perhaps, understood the lecture better than Thor had, as he was always the quieter, the more interested in magic; Thor had been immature at the time, with fairly rigid views of the universe and his place in it. Frigga’s explanation had been at odds with those views, so he had discounted it out of hand.

            “What did she say?” Banner prompted.

            Thor glanced at Fitz, who seemed slightly uncomfortable, even embarrassed. “She agreed that my father did love her more than he loved anything else—but that there was more to it than that. There are many kinds of love—even many kinds of what we call ‘true love.’ My father adored my mother, would have died for her without a second’s hesitation, but…he would never have permitted her to do the same for him, because he loved her too much to go on without her.”

            “In other words,” Barton said quietly, “he would die for her but he wouldn’t live for her.”

            “Exactly.”

            Coulson slipped his hand into Barton’s. “That’s not an easy choice to make. Most people wouldn’t be able to walk away from someone they loved—even if there was no chance of rescue, no way for both to survive.”

            “But you would,” Thor said. It was not a question. “If it came down to a choice, if you could save your own life at the expense of his, and he told you to leave him behind, to save yourself—you would do it, would you not?”

            Coulson hesitated, looked at Barton once more, then took a deep breath and turned back to Thor. “If there was absolutely no other alternative, if it came down to dying together or living alone, and he told me to go—then yes. I would go.”

            Simmons’ head shot up, her eyes wide. Romanoff, too, looked startled. Thor looked at Barton, who nodded, then turned back to the others. “ _That_ is the only kind of love that can withstand Lorelei’s power. It is…extraordinarily rare. Not just to love someone so much that you are willing to die with them—or _for_ them—but to love them so much that you are willing to permit them to sacrifice themselves for you. And more—to honor that sacrifice, to make it a sacrifice worth making. Not just to survive but to _live._ It’s a lesson I’ve not learned yet,” he admitted, studying Jane, whose hands were folded almost protectively over her stomach. “I think—no, I _know_ —that if presented with that situation, I would be unable to leave you, no matter how much you begged me to.”

            “I don’t know that I’d even have the courage to ask you to leave,” Jane admitted.

            There was a long moment of silence, broken by Stark. “By the way, this is Agent Jemma Simmons, of S.H.I.E.L.D. Simmons, this is Thor and Dr. Jane Foster.”

            Simmons started. “Oh! Uh—hello…”

            Jane smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Simmons.”

            “It’s—uh—it’s nice to meet you, too.” Simmons looked flustered.

            Stark turned to Coulson. “How long are you here for?”

            “Just the afternoon,” Coulson said quietly. “Things are—we can’t justify being away any longer than that.”

            “Well then. We’ll let you guys have some space.” Stark rose to his feet. “C’mon, everyone, let’s find somewhere else to be.”

            Thor started for the elevator, but Barton shook his head. “No, you guys are fine…Phil, want a tour of the tower?”

            “Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure.” Coulson smiled slightly, twining his fingers through Barton’s as they started for the elevator. Simmons and Fitz exchanged glances, and then she was pushing him to the elevator after them.

            “They’re not going to get any further than the seventy-third floor,” Banner said. Stark snickered.

            Romanoff, who had been silent the entire time, looked up at Thor. “What happened to your mother?” she asked quietly.

            Thor resumed his seat next to Jane. She leaned into him, and he put his arm around her shoulders before speaking. “It’s rather a long story. But the Dark Elves invaded Asgard, searching for the Aether that was accidentally contained in Jane. Malekith found my mother and knew she was concealing Jane.” He swallowed. “When Mother refused to tell him where Jane was, he killed her.”

            Romanoff gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. Stark’s eyes radiated sorrow. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said quietly. “Was that—was that before or after your brother was killed?”

            “Before. Her death was what convinced him to assist me in saving Jane.”

            Stark sighed. “It’d be nice if _someone_ in this chicken outfit could cut a break.”

            Thor wondered what poultry had to do with it, but decided not to ask.

***

            Romanoff eventually went to another floor to prepare lunch, with the rest following her. Simmons and Fitz joined them within the hour. Barton and Coulson did not.

            “Should someone go get them?” Jane asked, a little uncertainly, as Banner began setting the table and Romanoff put the finishing touches on her meal.

            Stark shook his head. “Clint knows where the kitchen is if they decide to join us—or if they decide to get something later. They don’t get the opportunity to be together very often. Let them be.”

            “We—” Simmons began, a touch indignantly, gesturing to herself and Fitz.

            “—are different,” Banner interrupted gently. “You’re lab partners. You work together. When Fitz is back on active duty, so to speak, you’ll see each other _literally_ every day, both on the job and off.”

            Romanoff nodded. “Even before Phil was supposedly killed, he and Clint only saw each other every so often. Sometimes we’d work missions together, but usually they were needed in different places. Their paths would cross for an hour, an afternoon, an evening, a night—more rarely for a whole weekend—but they’ve always hoarded every minute they could spend with each other, on the job or off.”

            Fitz looked up at Simmons. “I can’t imagine what that must be like. Especially not now that they’re engaged…”

            Simmons relaxed visibly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

            Nothing more was said on the subject as they began eating. After a few minutes, however, Jane laid down her fork. “I just—sorry, I don’t understand. Things are…obviously different now than they were before. Why doesn’t Barton go with your team?”

            “Coulson won’t let him,” Fitz replied without hesitation.

            “Which I don’t get,” Romanoff said, pulling a face. “Clint could help you guys, a lot. And that way, Phil would _know_ he was all right…”

            “Yes, but if anything happened to Barton in that situation,” Thor, who had already considered the problem, said, “Coulson would feel doubly guilty. Not only would he have failed to protect him, he would have been directly responsible for putting him in that position.”

            “He’s right,” Stark said. “Think about how bad he felt a couple weeks back when they got attacked on the beach in Malibu. And that wasn’t something _anyone_ could have prevented. He’d feel even worse if it was on a mission that he’d sent Clint on.”

             “They were _what?_ ” Jane squeaked. Thor rested a steadying hand against her back.

            Banner rubbed the bridge of his nose briefly. “The last time the whole team was visiting—we were still back in Malibu—Coulson and Barton went for a walk on the beach and a team of HYDRA goons attacked them. Neither one was seriously hurt, but…you know, that kind of thing tends to make an impression.”

            Simmons sighed, toying with her glass. “I just—I don’t understand how that’s any different than the dangers they usually face.”

            Thor studied the young woman. “Simmons, may I ask how old you are?”

            Simmons looked startled, but replied, “Twenty-six. I—I’ll be twenty-seven in September.”

            Thor quickly calculated what percentage of the average human life-span that was. “You’re still young,” he said gently. “And this is your first experience with such things, is it not?”

            Simmons nodded. “I’ve spent a lot of time in labs. Fitz and I only went out into the field when Coulson recruited us for his team—it’s been less than a year.”

            “Then you wouldn’t know,” Thor said. “Coulson and Barton may be used to facing dangers, they may be accustomed to attacks and injuries and the fear of losing one another— _while they are in the field._ But in this instance, they were simply out for a walk, off-duty, in a place they should have felt safe. A soldier expects to engage the enemy in combat on the field of battle. He does not expect to have the enemy come into his home while he is relaxing with his wife and children.”

            Stark bristled momentarily, then closed his eyes and visibly forced himself to relax. “He’s right,” he muttered, almost reluctantly. “I mean, that’s why we’ve been so jumpy about security, but…it’s still not something they were expecting.”

            “It’s not fair,” Romanoff said passionately. “They get so little time together as it is…God, if I’d been there, there wouldn’t have been much left of those bastards.”

            “There wasn’t much left of them _anyway,_ ” Banner said quietly. “The other guy made sure of that.”

            Thor had no need to ask who the “other guy” was. He recalled Banner referring to the Hulk as that during the Battle of Manhattan. “Good.”

            Jane started and looked up at him. “ _Good?_ ” she repeated incredulously.

            “Yes,” Thor replied simply. “If they are dead, they can neither attempt to harm anyone again nor report back to their superiors.”

            Simmons shivered and looked away. Jane opened her mouth, then suddenly turned faintly green and put a hand over her mouth. Without a word, she rushed from the room.

            Banner looked after her a little anxiously. “I hope we didn’t—”

            “We did not,” Thor reassured him. “She gets ill easily these days.”

            “Morning sickness,” Romanoff murmured.

            Simmons looked up sharply. “ _What?_ ”

            “Ah, that’s right, you were not here when we shared the news,” Thor said. “Jane is with child.”

            “With—you’re—” Simmons’ eyes widened in amazement. “That’s—congratulations, that’s wonderful. When is she due?”

            “She thinks December or January.”

            “She’s not been to a doctor yet?”

            Thor shook his head. “She only just discovered the pregnancy two days ago. There’s not been time.”

            “We’ll get her to one,” Stark said. “Eventually. As soon as we figure out how to do it inconspicuously.”

            Romanoff pulled a face. “Hello, master spy here. I’m _good_ at inconspicuous.”

            “Better than I am, anyway.”

            “Stark, a brick through a window is more inconspicuous than you are.”

            Jane returned to find all of them laughing. “What’s so funny?”

            Banner pointed to Stark, who grinned. “Can’t deny that. I’m a funny guy.”

            Romanoff pulled out Jane’s chair for her. “So, Jane. How many siblings do you have?”

            “Siblings?” Jane repeated, looking taken aback. “None.”

            “Would you like one?”

* * *

            Thor could hardly help but admire Romanoff’s plan.

            Once lunch had concluded and the dishes were put away, Stark led the group—all of whom were curious to see how it would play out—into one of his labs. Romanoff waved a hand at one of the computer screens, and an access screen popped up.

            “Now _this_ is more like it,” Thor said approvingly.

            Romanoff gave him a half-smile before pulling up a database of names and numbers. She scanned it rapidly, then stabbed a finger at one particular name. A picture of an elderly man with large glasses and a silver beard, smiling kindly at the camera, appeared in the top left corner.

            “Jameson, Daniel D.,” Romanoff read. “OB/GYN, with thirty years’ experience. Specializes in dealing with first-time mothers, especially teenagers, as well as people from impoverished areas and battered women. Friendly, good bedside manner, and above all _discreet._ I think he’s our guy.” She looked at Jane and added, “Unless you’d rather a female doctor.”

            “This guy’s fine,” Jane said, shaking her head.

            Stark handed Romanoff a phone. Romanoff dialed the number on the screen, then pressed the receiver to her ear and waited, twirling a lock of hair absently around her finger. After a moment, she said, “Hello, yes, my name is Nancy Foster. I’m calling on behalf of my sister Jane. She’s…um…she thinks she may be ‘in the family way,’ as they say…yes, she’s right here…she’d rather not. That’s why I’m calling…yes, I’ll hold.” She winked at Jane. “Yes, I’m still here…yes, sir…oh, _no,_ nothing like that. It’s just that we’re technically in hiding right now. See, a couple months ago, we—oh, sorry, Jane’s waving at me to shut me up. I’m new to all of this, I’m still learning…yeah, I understand…all right, I can do that.” Suddenly she looked up at Jane and mouthed _Birthday._

            Jane quickly held up six fingers, then nine, then eight, then one. Romanoff nodded. “Foster, Jane…June ninth, 1981…homemaker…uh, I can’t tell you that. See, the thing is, part of our cover…yeah, okay…yeah, that’d be great. Uh—hang on.” She moved the phone away from her mouth. “Hey, Jane, do you know your blood type off the top of your head?”

            “A-positive,” Jane replied.

            “A-positive,” Romanoff repeated into the phone. “Well, she’s not completely sure, it’s been a stressful couple of weeks, but she thinks nine or ten weeks, that’s the last time she was with—him.” She paused. “Yeah, we know, but I got her a home test the other day and it came back positive, so…okay, yeah…well, as soon as possible…hold on, I’ll check.” She looked up at Jane again. “Tomorrow at eleven?”

            “Should be fine.” Jane smiled wryly. “I don’t think I have anything pressing to do.”

            “That’d be great, thank you…as long as you understand that it’s not gonna be—yeah, no, we do, but it’s not _real,_ you understand, it’s part of our _cover…_ well, as long as we’re all on the same page…okay, great. See you tomorrow. Thanks so much.” Romanoff hung up the phone and handed it back to Stark. “All set.”

            “I’m impressed,” Thor said, grinning crookedly. “Not only did you develop this plan quickly and put it into action rapidly, you concocted a cover story in a matter of minutes—and it seems fully developed. How did you do that?”

            Romanoff shrugged, but she looked pleased. “Practice, I guess.”

            “So what _is_ the cover story?” Jane asked. “In case someone asks.”

            “Okay. So, basically, we’re in WITSEC,” Romanoff explained. “We witnessed a hit in a mall parking lot a little more than two months ago, the execution of an off-duty DEA agent and his family. I started hitting the horn to draw attention to what was going on, and the guy fired at me.” She lifted her shirt slightly; Thor drew in a breath at the sight of the scar on her abdomen. “But he had to leave before he made sure I was dead, or before he saw you. Because we’re the only two people who have ever been able to identify the hitman, or link him to the criminal who hired him, they’re treating us very, very carefully. They wouldn’t bring the baby’s father into it because you and he aren’t technically married yet, so he has no idea where we—you—are, let alone that you’re pregnant. Our cover story—that is, our covers’ cover story—is that I’m a computer scientist who can’t take care of herself, so she still lives with her big sister. And by the way, if anyone asks, I’m a little more than three years younger than you are—I won’t be thirty until November.” She laughed. “ _That_ part’s true, anyway.”

            A slow grin crossed Jane’s face. “And, of course, if I’m more reluctant to talk about our _real_ lives, and the reason we’re in WITSEC, that only makes sense. I’m the older sister, I’ve always been the responsible one, and I’m desperate to protect _you_ —especially since you got shot, and I didn’t. I should’ve been able to protect you from getting hurt in the first place, and since I couldn’t, I have to be extra-vigilant about not blowing our cover.”

            Romanoff grinned in reply, although she looked surprised. “You’re good at this. Have you ever considered being a spy?”

            “No, thanks. I’m okay with astrophysics.”

            “Yeah, well, next time I need help fleshing out a cover story, I’m calling you.”

            Jane chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

            Thor saw Stark’s shoulders sag, and he closed his eyes for a moment. He was worried momentarily, until he recognized the posture as one of relief. “Friend Stark, surely you didn’t think we planned to leave any time soon?”

            Romanoff and Jane both looked at Stark as he opened his eyes and grinned. “I wasn’t sure. Cap didn’t stay, after all, and it’s taken me almost a month to convince Tasha to stay for more than a day or two.”

            Romanoff shrugged a little uncomfortably. “I blew all my covers. Needed to come up with some new ones, and I…”

            “Well, that ruled out Pepper re-hiring you at Stark Industries, but I kind of like the idea of you as Jane’s kid sister, the computer scientist…what specifically does this cover of yours do, anyway? Professional hacking? White-hat sort of thing?”

            “That was kind of the idea, yeah.”

            “I can see it.” Stark chuckled, then turned back to Thor. “Anyway, I had a fight getting Grumpy here to stay, and the only reason I managed to snag Clint on a permanent basis was because it was _before_ everything went all to hell, when the only ones who were lost and broken were the two of us. And, of course, I can’t get Phil and his team to stick around, and I’ve used every argument in the book. So, yeah, I worried you guys were only gonna be here a couple days or a week or something and then you’d, I don’t know, try to find a quiet little apartment in the city.”

            “We shall stay as long as you permit us to do so,” Thor said. “The threat presented by the organization you call HYDRA is great enough that I should much prefer to have assistance in defending against it.”

            Stark clapped Thor on the shoulder, then winced and shook out his hand. “You’ve got it.” He turned to Romanoff. “Want me to run you off some fake ID?”

            “That would be fantastic, thank you.”

            Stark moved over to his computer and waved a hand at it, calling up a program. “What do you need? Driver’s licenses, passports, birth certificates, marriage certificates, divorce papers…?”

            “Just a couple of New York driver’s licenses. And if you could run off a piece of cancelled mail—proof of residency—”

            “Sure. Address?”

            Romanoff rattled off an address quickly. Simmons’ eyes shone with amazement. “That’s fantastic! How did you come up with that so quickly?”

            “It’s a dummy apartment that belongs to S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Romanoff replied with a smile. “Used it for one of my old covers.”

            “Do you just—reuse your covers, then?”

            “Not exactly, but why mess with a good thing? Like I said, the apartment’s a dummy. It looks occupied, and it’s in the right kind of neighborhood—not too ritzy, not too impoverished. But trust me, other than sharing an address, Nancy Foster and Naomi Wyatt have _nothing_ in common.”

            “Do all of your covers have names that begin with N?” Thor asked, curious.

            Romanoff nodded. “Easier to remember.”

            “I’m not any good at cover stories,” Simmons confessed. “I thought I did fairly well preparing for the one undercover mission I went on, but…I blew it and nearly got both Coulson and myself killed.”

            “You didn’t,” Fitz said quickly, squeezing her hand. “Those guys were—”

            “Fitz, I blew it. You’re sweet, but I blew it.”

            “It takes practice,” Romanoff said. “And training, but mostly practice.”

            Simmons flushed. “I never had training in it. I—I’m a _scientist,_ I’m not supposed to…and that’s the _only_ time I’ve ever gone undercover myself.”

            Romanoff smiled. “Would you like some tips? Just in case you have to go undercover again.”

            Simmons’ eyes widened. “I—would you really?”

            “Sure. C’mon, let’s let Wonder Boy here work.” Romanoff led the way to the elevator.

            Thor put his arm around Jane as they followed the group. Once they had settled once more in the living room, Romanoff began. “Okay. First tip: _keep it simple._ When you’re coming up with the back story, don’t come up with so many details that you have to write them down to remember them all, unless you have at _least_ a week to memorize them. If you’re doing it on the fly, go for the basics. Come up with a name, an age, a birthday if you think it’s likely to be necessary. Know why your cover is doing what she’s doing. Anything else is icing.”

            Thor nodded. “May I interject? It is useful if those things are _close_ to the truth, if not the literal truth. Plausibility is the key.”

            “Right,” Romanoff said. “With age, for example—you usually have up to five years on either side of your actual age to work with, depending. Looking at you, I’d say you could pass for anything from twenty-one to thirty. Much younger than that and you’d get a lot of ‘wow, you look so _mature_ for your age,’ and much older and you’d get ‘but you look so _young!_ ’ Neither of which are good.”

            “Really?” Simmons looked surprised at that.

            “You never want your cover to be overly noticeable. People are going to notice a thirty-seven-year-old woman who could pass for twenty-one, or a teenager who could pass for a legal adult. _Especially_ a teenager who could pass for legal. Actually, that’s a good way to get hurt in ways that have nothing to do with the scope of your mission. Trust me.” A shadow passed over Romanoff’s face for a moment.

            When Thor realized what she was implying, he felt a strong and sudden urge to fetch Mjølnir and use it to teach someone manners. However, he supposed that Romanoff had already done so; she was quite a capable warrior and undoubtedly able to take care of herself. Jane and Simmons both looked horrified, and it was obvious that they, too, understood.

            Romanoff shook her head quickly and continued. “What Thor said about plausibility—that’s important, too. And what you need the cover for really determines how much you need to know about her. If you need information from a person, or access to a particular part of a building, or just to keep someone under surveillance, your cover needs a good reason to be there and asking those questions. You need to know those reasons. But keep it simple. Only lies have details.”

            “What?” Simmons said, frowning.

            “Say someone calls you and says, ‘Hey, let’s get together tomorrow afternoon, I haven’t seen you in forever.’ Well, there’s a really good reason you haven’t seen them in forever, and it’s that they’re an annoying little shitmuffin,” Romanoff said. Simmons gave a surprised giggle. “But you don’t want to hurt their feelings. If you say, ‘Sorry, I’ve already got plans,’ they’ll usually respond with ‘oh, okay, sorry, maybe some other time.’ But if you try to tell whoever it is exactly what your mythical ‘plans’ are, they’ll know immediately that you’re lying to them.”

            “Yeah,” Simmons said slowly. “And if you know what those plans are, it’s easy to verify them, isn’t it? So even if you don’t know right away, you can still figure out that the other person lied to you.”

            “Exactly.” Romanoff nodded. “Covers are like that, on a grander scale. Don’t _ever_ put something in your cover’s history that can be easily proved or disproved. And don’t try to be too elaborate, either. A lot of rookies make that mistake. They think that being Jenny Smith from Chicago, who graduated from Michigan State and worked as a low-ranking insurance saleswoman, sounds too boring. So they become Jacinda Vane-Tempest from Tryon, Nebraska, who got her degree at Centenary College of Louisiana and went to work as the secretary to the CEO.”

            “Well, what’s wrong with all that?” Fitz asked.

            “In the first place, a name like ‘Jacinda Vane-Tempest’ stands out. It draws too much attention. Tryon, Nebraska only has a hundred and fifty-seven residents, and Centenary College is a small college with five hundred undergraduate students. People who are new to making covers always think that small towns are better, because _surely_ someone from a major city would be more likely to be discovered, right? But it’s not true. Big cities grant anonymity. The smaller the town, the more likely it is that everybody knows everybody. Again, an unusual name would be one that everyone would remember. And if a small-town girl got a position as a CEO’s secretary? _Everyone_ would know it. The other thing is that the higher a position you have in the company, the more likely you are to be caught out. A generic name, a big city, a state college and an entry-level position might be boring, but it’s _safe._ ”

            “That makes sense,” Fitz allowed.

            “Now,” Romanoff continued, turning back to Simmons, “once you have your cover, it’s incredibly important that you know who’s going in with you. When you went undercover, was it just you?”

            “No, Coulson and I were a father-daughter pair,” Simmons said with a faint blush.

            “So I guess the two of you went over your cover before you started.”

            “Er—not exactly.” Simmons’ blush deepened. “He told me that we were to be a father and a daughter on a train trip. I made up the rest on my own.”

            Romanoff closed her eyes briefly. “Let me guess. You gave him the rest of the information you’d come up with by staging a scene, right? Tragic back story, you yelled at him about it?”

            Simmons bit her lips and looked down at her hands, which were folded on her lap. Softly, she said, “I told you I wasn’t any good at it…”

            Thor laid a hand on the young woman’s arm, obviously startling her. “Fear not, Simmons,” he said. “Deception is a skill like any other. Some have a natural talent for it, but for others, it must be learned.”

            “I wasn’t yelling at you, honey,” Romanoff said, looking genuinely chagrined. “Most people make that mistake. But next time, just remember, you need to go over the story with your team _before_ you go under. A cover is only as good as the people using it. However elaborate your back story may be, it’s no help if the person sharing it doesn’t know it. And shouting it at your teammate doesn’t do anything but draw attention to you. Which is _not_ what you want,” she added firmly. “It’s not undercover if everybody knows you’re there. Ordinary civilians probably wouldn’t think anything of it—they’d just see a drama queen yelling at her father—but the guys you were trying to find or infiltrate or whatever would have spotted you in a heartbeat.”

            “They did,” Simmons admitted. Fitz squeezed her hand. “But I just—I was terrified of being asked a question I didn’t know the answer to.”

            “There are ways around that,” Romanoff told her. “If you have time, work a plausible reason into your back story for your cover to either not know the answer or not choose to answer. Maybe you’ve got short-term memory loss, although I don’t recommend that one unless you’ve done a lot of research into it. Maybe it’s like the cover Jane and I are using—we’re in witness protection, so we _can’t_ answer. I had a cover once who was a conspiracy theorist, so she wouldn’t tell anyone _anything_ if she could help it. That was a fun one. But if you don’t have time, and can’t come up with a persona on the spur of the moment, just say ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ That’s a phrase that’ll get you places.”

            “I’ll have to remember that,” Simmons said. “I’m not very good at thinking up excuses on the spur of the moment. I’m not very good at _much_ on the spur of the moment.”

            “What _can_ you do on the spur of the moment?” Romanoff asked with a slight smile.

            Simmons gave a slightly embarrassed huff of laughter. “Well, I can cry on command.”

            Romanoff sat up, eyes wide. “Seriously? _Use that._ God, I’d _kill_ to be able to do that.”

            “Really?” Simmons asked, startled.

            “Yeah. Never underestimate the power of a crying woman. Take your cover on the train—the father-daughter pair. Pretend you haven’t crafted an elaborate background, pretend that _all_ you know is that you’re on a train with your father. Now imagine someone asks you where your mother is.”

            Simmons’ eyes widened, she moved her mouth silently for a minute, and then tears flooded her eyes and she looked away. “I c-can’t…I don’t…” she stammered.

            Fitz squeezed her hand anxiously. “Jemma…”

            “Don’t be so hard on her,” Banner remonstrated, glaring at Romanoff.

            Thor smiled. “Well done, Lady Simmons.”

            Simmons raised her head and looked at Thor hopefully, her eyes dry once more. “You really think so? Was that good?”

            “That was _brilliant,_ ” Romanoff said sincerely, grinning from ear to ear. “You have no idea how many awkward situations that’ll get you out of. And even better, you’re more likely to get information with something like that. Men tend to underestimate women anyway, but they _especially_ tend to underestimate young, pretty, vulnerable-looking ones. Look up at them with your eyes full of tears and ask your questions, they’ll answer without thinking twice.” She leaned back against her chair and crossed one leg over the other knee. “There are other tricks and stuff, too, but I think you get the idea. And hey, if you ever need a hand with a cover, I’ll give you my number before you leave. Feel free to text me.”

            “Thanks,” Simmons said, looking relieved. “I—like I said, I’m not very good at coming up with excuses on the spur of the moment. I usually end up doing something stupid.”

            “Like what?”

            “Well, I—” Simmons hesitated, blushing. “I don’t know—did you hear about Operation Overkill?”

            “South Ossetia, right? Separatists built a weapon that used sonic vibrations to activate any self-propelled weapon, from a holstered gun to a nuclear missile silo.” Romanoff shrugged. “Technically those records were sealed—although they’re out in public now, probably, if you can wade through all the other crap I dumped onto the internet—but, yeah, I heard about it.” She smiled slightly. “Actually, I guess you could say I _overheard_ about it. Hill and Hand were having an argument in the ladies’ room about why they hadn’t sent Steve and me on the mission instead of whoever they _did_ send. I guess it was your team?”

            “Not the whole team,” Fitz said softly. “Just Ward and me.”

            Romanoff froze. “ _What?_ ”

            “Well, we didn’t know he was HYDRA then,” Fitz mumbled.

            “They didn’t tell us what was going on,” Simmons told Romanoff. “Fitz and I, we’re only Level Five, and Skye wasn’t even a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, she was still on parole then, sort of. May and Ward both knew about the mission completely, but when they sent Fitz on the mission, he only knew the basics. Skye and I didn’t even know that, and…we were worried. Coulson kept telling us to trust the system, but Skye talked me into helping her hack into the mainframe to find out what was going on. She gave me a flash drive that would let her have ten minutes of unrestricted, unmonitored access.”

            “I knew I liked her for a reason,” Romanoff said, her smile returning. “So you plugged it into a terminal, right?”

            “Right, but—Agent Sitwell caught me and asked what I was doing. I don’t think he was suspicious at the time, but…I’m afraid I got flustered trying to act natural and put the wind up him. He kept pushing and I panicked and—and I shot him.”

            Romanoff let out a surprised whoop of laughter. “You _shot_ him?”

            “I didn’t kill him!” Simmons said desperately. “I just—stunned him.”

            “‘Stun easily, those Norwegian Blues,’” Banner said under his breath in an odd accent. Jane hastily began coughing.

            “I know you didn’t kill him, Simmons,” Romanoff assured her. “I just—God, I wish I’d been there to see his face. What did you shoot him with?”

            “Prototype of the I.C.E.R.,” Simmons said.

            “Oh, yeah, I’ve used those a couple of times. Not really my style—I don’t do nonlethal—but nice. How’d you get a prototype?”

            “We designed them,” Fitz said.

            Romanoff grinned. “You two are amazing. Seriously, though, if you’d shot literally any other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, I’d probably be concerned, but…it’s Sitwell. He was an asshole.”

            Jane lifted her eyebrows. “Why do you say that?”

            “Well, he was HYDRA,” Romanoff replied.

            “You continue to speak of him in the past tense,” Thor observed. “Has he since died?”

            Romanoff nodded. “We—Steve and Sam Wilson and I—had him in the backseat of our car, and…it’s a long story. The Winter Soldier attacked. He grabbed Sitwell and flung him into oncoming traffic. I mean, he _might_ have survived, but I’m pretty sure he’s jelly.”

            Jane shuddered at Romanoff’s unsympathetic comments, but Thor nodded. “I know not who this Winter Soldier is, but he seems a good man to have on our side.”

            “Yeah, he will be, but—it’s complicated, Thor.”

            Before Thor could ask for clarification, the elevator gave a soft _ding_ and Stark emerged, holding two small rectangles, roughly the size of the access cards. “Got your IDs right here,” he said, waving them. “That look good, Red?”

            Romanoff glared at Stark as she accepted one of the cards, studying it. “Perfect. Thanks, Stark.”

            Stark looked around. “Have Phil and Clint come up?”

            “No, not yet,” Banner replied. “I wonder what they’re doing?”

            “Most likely, one another,” Simmons said immediately.

            Stark let out a surprised bark of laughter. Thor raised his eyebrows in surprise at the ribald jest. “You’re not quite as innocent as you look,” he said, feeling a slight grin tug at his lips.

            Simmons blushed with some little pride.

            Romanoff pushed to her feet. “You know what, I feel like sparring. How about it, Thor? I know these guys won’t go up against me—” she gestured to Banner and Stark—“and Simmons isn’t really combat-certified. If Trip or Steve were here, maybe, but…”

            Thor rose to his feet as well. “I should be delighted.”

            “You don’t mind hands-only, do you?” Romanoff asked.

            “Not at all. I would hardly use Mjølnir on a friend.” Thor smiled.

            “Great. C’mon then.”

            With all of them in the elevator, it was something of a tight fit. Thor noticed that both Fitz and Banner had their eyes closed tightly and were breathing deeply. They were also the first off when they at last reached their destination.

            Romanoff immediately ducked through a door on one side. Stark indicated another door. “If you wanna change into something more suitable for a workout than khakis and a button-up, there are sweatpants and stuff in there.”

            “Thank you,” Thor said, entering the room.

            He found a pair of soft grey pants that fit him well, allowing for movement, although they were a touch snug. The shirts, however, were woefully inadequate, as were the shoes. After a moment’s deliberation, Thor abandoned all of them and emerged in only the pants. Simmons’ eyes widened; Jane grinned, a reaction Thor chose not to examine.

            Romanoff came out of the other room then, wearing a black tank top and a pair of pants similar to Thor’s. She, too, was barefoot. Upon seeing Thor, she gave a challenging smile, tilting her head to one side. “You ready?”

            “After you,” Thor said gravely, bowing.

            Romanoff hopped easily into the sparring ring in the center of the small room. Thor climbed into the other corner. The others settled on seats around the ring. Romanoff looked up wards. “J.A.R.V.I.S., care to ref?”

            “I would be delighted,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied. “Three…two…one…” There ws the single chime of a bell.

            Thor and Romanoff began circling one another. Ordinarily, Thor would have been concerned about a friendly bout with an opponent so much smaller than he was, particularly a maid of Midgard. But Romanoff was a warrior, skilled in the use of both her body and her mind as weapons. He narrowed his eyes, calculating even as he kept watch on Romanoff. He had sparred with Sif, but she was taller than Romanoff and muscular, with broad shoulders and solid bones. To battle Romanoff would require a different strategy. He had seen her fight, he knew some of her moves, but there was no guarantee she would use any of them.

            Suddenly, Romanoff bent her knees slightly and launched herself at Thor. He caught the fist that flew towards his ear and swung at her abdomen. She grabbed his wrist with her free hand, and although that would not have stopped his punch, she used it as leverage to kick her legs over her head, flip in midair, and twist his arms, attempting to pull him off-balance. The maneuver nearly succeeded.

            Thor grinned, giving himself over to the spar. He had feared his skills were growing rusty, since he had been unable to fight anyone during his sojourn on Earth. Romanoff had provided him with not only a good opportunity, but also a most worthy opponent and a fresh style of fighting. Most Asgardian warriors were larger than her and fought with standard postures and moves.

            He hardly noticed the passage of time, barely heard the cries and gasps of admiration from the onlookers, focused only on Romanoff and her moves. She was most difficult to get a grip on, and he landed but a few glancing blows.

            At last, Thor attempted to land a blow on the side of Romanoff’s head. She dodged under his hand and did a fast sweep with her leg, catching him on the back of the calf. He gave a shout of surprise as his feet flew out from under him and he landed flat on his back. Romanoff leapt on top of him, planting her elbow directly in the center of his sternum.

            “Victory,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said in his calm, even voice.

            Romanoff grinned and hopped to her feet, holding out a hand. “Good match. Thanks.”

            Thor grinned in reply, accepting the hand and allowing her to help him up. “My thanks as well, Lady Romanoff. I quite enjoyed the match.”

            “He was going easy on you,” Stark said, smirking.

            Thor climbed out of the ring and accepted a towel from Fitz. “On the contrary. I suspect it was she who went easily on _me._ ”

            Romanoff grinned. “Well, maybe a little.” She, too, took a towel and wiped the sweat from her brow, then draped it around her neck. “I’m gonna go grab a shower. Meet you guys up in the living room.”

            “Sure,” Stark said with a nod.

            Thor glanced down at himself. “I believe I should clean myself up as well. Excuse me.”

            Jane kissed his cheek. “You did good. I’ll see you in a few.”

            Thor returned to the suite of rooms which he and Jane had been allotted and stood in the shower for some time, cleaning the sweat and dirt from his body. Once he was finished, he redressed and returned to the seventy-eighth floor.

            “Feeling better?” Jane asked with a smile, scooting over to make room for him on the couch.

            “Much,” Thor said, smiling in reply. He put his arm around her and settled back. “What were we discussing?”

            “We were taking bets on who would be back first, you or Nat,” Stark said, smirking.

            Banner punched him lightly in the arm. “Seriously, we were trying to explain Loki to Fitz and Simmons. I don’t think we succeeded very well.”

            “Loki is difficult to explain,” Thor said, thinking of his brother with a pang.

            “I still think ‘crazy’ covers it,” Stark said.

            Thor shook his head. “There was insanity, there is no doubt about that…but there was much more to him than that.”

            “What was he like?” Fitz asked. “When you were growing up, I mean?”

            Thor was silent for a moment, remembering his childhood. “He was very much our mother’s child. Quieter than I, more inclined to study or read to himself than to roister or carouse, gifted in magic and stealth. But…my friends called him ‘Little Shadow.’ When we were young…he was some years younger than I…he followed me everywhere. It irritated Sif and the others, from time to time, but…if Loki asked me to wait, I would, always. And if I suggested a game, or a frolic, he was the first to agree to join me, whether he thought it a good idea or not. He was mischievous, of course, fond of playing practical jokes, but…he was never _malicious._ Not until he discovered that he was a Frost Giant, and that our father had lied to him for his entire life, did he develop a temper. But as a child, and as a young man…I was fond of him.”

            Stark and Banner looked at one another. “Is that why you told us to have a care how we spoke about him during Manhattan?” Banner asked.

            “It is,” Thor said. “I had fought him before that, but I still hoped that my brother was inside there. When I returned to Asgard with him, I thought…I thought the brother I knew and loved as a boy was gone forever.”

            “Was he?” Romanoff’s voice came from the direction of the elevator. She stepped out and joined them, her hair still wet from the shower.

            “I don’t think so.” This comment, surprisingly, came not from Thor but from Jane. He turned to her in bewilderment as she, perhaps unconsciously, ran a hand over her abdomen. “I thought—I mean, I didn’t really know him, not like you did, and maybe I’m just easy to fool. But he helped you get us to the Dark Elves’ realm without expecting anything in return—respite or freedom or anything like that. He protected me while you were fighting with them. And he sacrificed his life for you. I think your brother was still in there, somewhere. And in the end, when it counted, he did his best to redeem himself. Whether it was for you, or for your mother, it doesn’t really matter. The point is that he did.”

            Fitz opened his mouth. Romanoff pointed at him. “I will only count Ward as having attempted to redeem himself if he _actively_ dies to protect one of you. Actions speak louder than words, Fitz. Nobody knows that better than I do.”

            “Yeah,” Fitz said, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “I guess.”

            Suddenly, a phone began ringing. Simmons jumped, then reached for her pocket. She extracted a phone and pressed a button. “Simmons…oh, hello…what? No, not since before lunch…mm-hmm…I don’t know.” She lowered the phone. “It’s Agent May. Coulson isn’t answering her calls.”

            “He’s asleep,” Romanoff said. “So’s Clint. I stopped to check on them a couple minutes ago.”

            “If you guys need to get back,” Stark said reluctantly, “I can wake them up. Or J.A.R.V.I.S. can.”

            “He and Barton are asleep,” Simmons said into the phone. “I didn’t realize how late it was. Someone can—what?” She listened for a minute. “He’ll be furious…yes, well, there is that…yes, all right. How did— _it_ go?” A slow smile crossed her face. “That’s good. I’ll tell him…of course.” She turned to Fitz. “Everyone says hello.”

            “Give them my love,” Fitz said with a slight smile.

            “Fitz sends his love…no, he’s—he’s still in the chair…at the latest, yes…all right, good night.” Simmons hung up the phone and turned to the others. “May says to leave Coulson be. He’s not really been sleeping well—he needs his rest.”

            “Clint hasn’t exactly been sleeping well, either,” Stark said. “He’s been keeping me company in the lab overnight a lot more often lately. Let ‘em sleep.”

            “Phil’s gonna be furious when he wakes up,” Romanoff cautioned. “You know how he is about getting work done with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

            “True,” Simmons agreed. “But he can’t do his work properly if he’s tired, either. May said she’ll take the blame.”

            “In that case,” Stark said, “I assume you’re staying for dinner. Pizza again?”

* * *

            Neither Barton nor Coulson reappeared that evening. The next morning, when Thor arose and stepped to the window to watch the sun rise, he wondered to himself which floor they lived on and whether or not they were still there.

            The answer seemed to be _no_ when Thor and Jane arrived in the kitchen for breakfast. Stark and Banner were there, nursing cups of what appeared to be coffee, but they were alone. Banner noticed them first. “Morning. Sleep okay?”

            “Yes, thank you.” Thor pulled out a chair for Jane. “Did you?”

            “Yeah,” Stark said. “Surprisingly. I’m an insomniac, so I hardly ever sleep, but last night I think I got a full eight hours in.”

            Thor saw a large pot. “Would you like me to prepare breakfast?” he offered. “I am not much of a cook, but I can make a passable porridge.”

            Stark’s eyebrows rose. “Sure, if you really want to.”

            All the ingredients were in the cupboards. Thor, who had learned to cook over a campfire in army training, listened contentedly to the chatter behind him as he worked. As he tipped ingredients into the pot, Romanoff came in, wearing an outfit that suited her but looked nothing like her usual attire.

            “Morning, sis,” she said, nudging Jane in passing. “Ready for your big appointment today?”

            “As I’ll ever be,” Jane said.

            Romanoff poured herself a cup of coffee, then looked at what Thor was doing. “Oatmeal?”

            “Porridge,” Thor corrected her.

            “Same difference.”

            “Not exactly.”

            Jane and Stark both laughed as Romanoff rolled her eyes theatrically.

            Just as Thor was preparing to remove the pot from the stove, Simmons came in, pushing Fitz’s chair. Both were obviously in a good mood. Stark grinned. “Morning, you two.”

            “I am glad to see you are still here,” Thor said with a nod. “I was sure you would have left before the sun rose.”

            “Phil wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” Romanoff informed him. “But I’m surprised he wasn’t down here as soon as he woke up.”

            Banner shrugged. “Maybe he’s not awake yet.”

            Thor gave the pot a final stir. “This is ready.”

            Romanoff fetched down bowls and spoons, and Thor set the pot on the table, allowing everyone to serve themselves (Simmons had to assist Fitz). His porridge was made with a milk base, oats, and honey, common enough on Asgard, but it was apparent that the others had never tried it before.

            “I vote you make breakfast every morning,” Stark mumbled around his spoon.

            “Seconded,” Romanoff said.

            “Call to question,” Fitz said.

            “All in favor?” Banner said.

            “Aye,” chorused the group.

            Thor chuckled. “If you insist. This is the extent of my repertoire, however.”

            “Until we get sick of it, which might well be never, that’s fine,” Stark told him.

            At that juncture, Coulson came charging in, looking somewhere between panic and anger, Barton at his heels. “Why the hell did you let me sleep for so long?” he demanded to the room in general.

            “Because you both needed it,” Stark said frankly. “Pull up a chair. Thor made porridge.”

            “Weirdest dinner I’ve ever seen,” Barton mumbled, reaching for a seat.

            “Breakfast, Clint, it’s breakfast,” Romanoff said. “It’s eight-thirty in the _morning.”_

            Coulson froze. “In—you let us sleep for _twenty hours?_ ”

            Stark opened his mouth, then glared at Romanoff. Simmons spoke up timidly. “May told me to, sir. She called yesterday evening and—she’s been worried about you. We all have. She said you hadn’t been getting enough rest and…just to let you sleep.”

            “But what about—” Coulson began.

            “It’s done,” Simmons interrupted. “Everything turned out fine. May said she’ll give you a full briefing when we get back today, but…everything is fine.”

            “She still should’ve—you _both_ should’ve—I told you we couldn’t spare—”

            “Son of Coul,” Thor said, deliberately using the Asgardian convention. “Agent Simmons did what she thought was her duty. As you cannot turn back the hands of time and get up earlier than you have, I suggest you at least have something to eat before you depart.”

            Coulson stared at Thor for a moment, then sighed and sat down at the table.

            Romanoff turned to Jane. “So, I figure we should leave around quarter to ten. It’s about a forty-minute drive from here, and I thought we’d walk up to a convenience store or something and call a cab.”

            “Since we wouldn’t have been allowed to keep our car, assuming we had one, and we wouldn’t have had time to get a new one,” Jane said, nodding. “Sounds good to me.”

            Barton frowned as he set two cups of coffee on the table. “What are you talking about?”

            “OB/GYN appointment,” Romanoff said. “Jane and I are posing as sisters.”

            Coulson froze, staring at Romanoff. “ _What?_ ”

            “I’m pregnant,” Jane said, touching her stomach.

            “Oh. _Oh._ ” Coulson exhaled, sitting back. “Thank God. For a minute I thought…” He shook his head. “Congratulations, Dr. Foster, Thor.”

            “Thank you,” Jane said with a smile.

            Romanoff laughed. “Phil, you didn’t actually think _I_ was pregnant, did you?”

            “Well, I haven’t seen you in a while, anything is possible.”

            “Not _that._ My God.”

            “Why not? Is he too busy?” Barton asked quickly.

            “Yeah,” Romanoff replied absently, then froze, looking like an animal suddenly facing down a hunter’s weapon. “I—I mean, uh—”

            A knowing, mischievous grin split Barton’s face. “What’s his name?”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Romanoff said, a faint blush suffusing her cheeks.

            Stark grinned, too. “Oh, you’ve totally got the hots for someone. Is it anyone we know?”

            “Ye—no—there’s no one!” Romanoff’s cheeks burned red.

            “C’mon, Tasha,” Barton coaxed.

            Thor had to confess a certain curiosity to himself. “Is he aware of your affection?”

            “Or did you tell him, and he turned you down?” Stark asked.

            Romanoff turned imploringly to Coulson. “Make them stop.”

            “No, I’m curious, too,” Coulson said.

            Banner laughed. “Face it, Natasha, you’re the baby sister. We’re going to tease you to hell and back.”

            “I’ll call Steve,” Romanoff threatened.

            “And he’ll tease you, too,” Barton said.

            “C’mon, guys, leave her alone,” Jane said, frowning.

            Stark sighed. “You’re no fun.”

            When the last of the porridge was gone, Banner gathered the dishes. Coulson took a deep breath. “We should go,” he said with obvious reluctance.

            “You will return, of course?” Thor asked. After all, from what he had been told, both Barton and Fitz would remain behind…

            “Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Coulson assured him.

            Simmons touched Fitz’s arm lightly. “When do you think…when will that come off?” she asked, indicating the cast.

            “Four weeks from today,” Banner replied over his shoulder. “The third of June.”

            “We’ll for sure be back then,” Coulson said. “I—I’d _like_ to say we’ll be by sooner, but…I can’t guarantee that.” He looked at Barton, his eyes haunted. “You know I can’t.”

            “I know,” Barton said softly. “Just…be careful, okay?”

            “I will.” Coulson leaned over and kissed Barton gently.

            Simmons stooped and kissed Fitz on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon, Fitz,” she promised.

            “See you.” Fitz kissed Simmons’ cheek in reply.

            “Bring the team when you come back,” Stark said. “We’ll have a party.”

            “Sure…sure.” Coulson forced a smile. “Good luck today, Dr. Foster. We’ll—we’ll see you all soon.”

            Thor watched as Coulson and Simmons left. “A brave man,” he said quietly, “and one who takes far too much onto his own shoulders.”

            “I’ve been telling him that for years,” Barton said softly.

            Stark got to his feet. “I’m gonna head up to my lab and work on…something,” he said. “Fitz, you coming?”

            “Yeah, okay,” Fitz agreed.

            Thor, Jane, and Romanoff remained in the kitchen, Romanoff nursing another cup of coffee, and talked quietly as Banner washed the dishes. Thor took some comfort in the normalcy and domesticity of the situation.

            At last, Romanoff handed Banner her coffee cup and got to her feet. “About time for us to hit the road. You ready, Jane?”

            “Sure am. Thanks again, Natasha.” Jane got up as well.

            Romanoff smiled slightly. “I’ve always wanted a sister, too.”

            Thor stood and took Jane into his arms. “I wish I could accompany you,” he murmured.

            “I know. I wish you could, too.” Jane leaned against his chest for a moment. “But it’s just—it’s not safe now. We’ll be all right.”

            “I love you, Jane.”

            “I love you, too.”

            Thor kissed Jane gently, then released her. Romanoff looped her arm through Jane’s, and the two women left.

            Once the dishes were completed, Banner went up to one of the labs as well. Thor, left to his own devices, decided to make use of one of the gyms. He went to his room, collected Mjølnir, and headed off to do some target practice.

            The hammer could summon lightning, but Thor knew better than to do that indoors. Instead, he practiced hurling the hammer at the targets around the room, watching it strike, rebound, and strike again. The simple, repetitive motions soothed him, eased muscles still slightly sore from his bout with Romanoff the day before, and enabled him to clear his mind of worry.

            He had no clear idea of how much time passed before a voice spoke from behind him. “Nice catch.”

            Thor whirled around to see Stark in the doorway. “You startled me.”

            “My apologies,” Stark said. “Lunch is ready.”

            Thor started to set Mjølnir aside, then decided against it. “Are—”

            “Not yet,” Stark said. “But it’s only just noon. And like Natasha said, it’s about a forty-minute drive from here to the clinic. They’ll probably be back before we finish eating.”

            Thor followed Stark up to the kitchen. Fitz and Banner were already there, with plates of pasta in front of them. Thor set Mjølnir against the leg of the table and joined them. They ate in silence.

            Halfway through the meal, Romanoff and Jane came in. Both were beaming broadly. Thor immediately rose from his place. “Is everything all right?”

            “Everything’s fine,” Jane said. “I’m thirteen weeks, which is a little farther than I thought, but that’s okay. They did an ultrasound and everything looks good. Better than good. It’s perfect. I’m healthy, the baby’s healthy.”

            Thor pulled Jane into his arms again, embracing her tightly. “Thanks be.”

            Jane pulled Thor’s head down and kissed him soundly, then whispered three words into his ear, three words that warmed him and filled him with delight even as they terrified him in ways he had never known before.

            “ _It’s a girl.”_  


End file.
